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DAVID TODD 


THE ROMANCE OF HIS LIFE AND LOVING 



DAVID MACLURE 
n 

AUTHOR OF “ THOUGHTS ON LIFE, ETC. 



CASSELL PUBLISHING COMPANY 

104 & 106 Fourth Avenue 




Copyright, 

1890, 

By O. M. DUNHAM. 


Ail rights reserved. 


PRESS OF W. L MERSHON & CO. 
RAHWAY, N. J. 


CONTENTS 


CHAPTER PAGE 

I. David Todd, i 

II. Crosscairn and the Black Bull, - g 

III. Dalmelington, 20 

IV. Pulpit and Pew, 34 

V. More About the Minister, - - - 38 

VI. A Text, 47 

VII. Church and Congregation, - - - 62 

VIII. A Love Affair, 68 

IX. More About the Love Affair, - - 77 

X. The Social Element, - - - - 83 

XI. Mrs. Maxwell, 91 

XII. Mrs. McNeish, 109 

XIII. Mysie's Aunt, 119 

XIV. A Windfall, 129 

XV. Trouble at Dalmelington, - - - 133 

XVI. Grace and her Father, - - - 142 

XVII. A Little Chat, - - - - - 151 

XVIII. The Minister's Weak Point, - - 159 

XIX. A Visit to the Minister, - - - 167 


CONTENTS. 


XX. Hugh Dickie, ..... 175 

XXI. A Sudden Check, 184 

XXII. The Minister Determines to Investi- 
gate, 188 

XXIII. Mysie Leaves Service, - - - - 197 

XXIV. Meg McDuff, ..... 203 

XXV. The Journey’s End, - - - - 214 

XXVI. How Shall I Decide ? - - - 221 

XXVII. The Minister’s Strong Point, - - 229 

XXVIII. ‘'What Befel, Let Gossips Tell,” - 232 


DAVID TODD 


CHAPTER I. 

DAVID TODD. 

D avid TODD, on being ushered from the door 
of Squire Amphlett’s country-house of Dal- 
melington, bore a more than ordinarily grave face. 
He had but now ended an exceedingly serious in- 
terview with the worthy Squire Amphlett’s daugh- 
ter, and its results had not been of a character 
to brighten his features or make light his steps. 
It was apparent that David Todd’s heart was heavy, 
and that the weight there was not one easily to be 
removed. 

Mr. Todd had entered Squire Amphlett’s house 
with fear and trembling, with hope and misgiving. 
He had entered a suitor in love, confident only in 
the earnest sincerity of his devotion. He had 
pressed his suit with the deep intensity of a serious 
and determined nature, and now he left the house 
with the bitter disappointment and gravity a re- 
jected suitor of such a nature only can feel. 

David Todd had loved Grace Amphlett for years; 
he had watched her as she grew from girlhood and 
had set her image away secretly in his heart ; he had 


i 


2 


DAVID TODD, 


worshiped her there and had confided his love to 
her there only, and never till this unhappy day had 
he told his secret. Many and many a time he had 
said to himself, whispering in the solitude of his own 
lonely thoughts : “She will one day be mine ; in the 
fullness of time I will tell her of my love; I will 
make known to her how constant my thought and 
purpose has been through years, looking toward her 
as the bright star that is to shine for me and guide 
me through a happy life.*’ 

To-day, with the tender secret throbbing in his 
heart, with the all-pervading thought of love en- 
rapturing his otherwise quiet life, with the time ripe 
for the utterance of vows of devotion, he had ful- 
filled the first part of his cherished purpose, he had 
asked Grace Amphlett to be his wife. To his ear- 
nest passion she had answered: “I can never be to 
you more than a friend. ’ ’ Disappointed, trembling, 
he had urged her to take back her words and give 
him a hope for the future. “Your father,” he 
said, “when last I spoke to him of this matter, pre- 
pared me for an adverse answer, but still he gave 
me the hope that whatever the discouragement of 
to-day, I might yet look forward to a brighter to- 
morrow.” She had replied : “Do not let my father’s 
well-meant words place you in a false position; do 
not force me to be more emphatic than I have been. 
You have my answer. — There, Mr. Todd, pardon 
me if I have not shown you all the consideration 
which your sincerity and regard have deserved ; be- 
lieve me, I have not been intentionally harsh. Let 


DA VID TODD, % 

us still be the same friends we have been in the 
past.” 

Pale and haggard, he had sunk into a chair and 
passionately bemoaned his fate ; abject and cower- 
ing, he had cried: “How can I forget the purpose 
of years, how can I forget to love you!” Then, 
with his face still pale, but with a calm dignity he 
had arisen and said : “I thank you, Grace, for your 
consideration in this unhappy interview. I will leave 
you, but I cannot cease to love you. I fear that 
time will not heal the wounds of this day ; I cannot 
take you out of my heart, my life is in my passion, 
and I cannot, I cannot, give .you up.” Then he 
took his leave deliberately, with little in his features 
to mark the passion that had ruled him, little ex- 
cept a firm, fixed expression settling upon his pale, 
sad face. 

Ht ^ ^ ^ * Ht Hi 

Fifteen years before the time of this episode, the 
people of Crosscairn had buried a good old man, 
who, for many years had officiated as minister of 
the village church, preaching extraordinarily dry 
sermons and offering outrageously long prayers, but 
dispensing much that was gentle and good outside 
of the church walls, in his daily ministrations at the 
homes of his flock. Indeed, he must have been a 
very good old man to have remained for forty years 
the shepherd of a flock containing so many black 
sheep as that of Crosscairn. Not that Crosscairn 
was distinctively a fold containing black sheep only, 
but like many another parish it possessed a surplus 


4 


DAVID TODD. 


of iniquity in the shape of envy, deceit, and vituper- 
ation, and the scandal arising therefrom, notwith- 
standing there were hardly a dozen adults in the 
parish who did not in spirit stand within the market- 
place of their own opinion and bawl daily, “Lord, 
I thank Thee I am not as other men.” 

When the worthies of Crosscairn lowered the 
good old shepherd into the grave and turned sadly 
away from the churchyard, it became incumbent to 
supply the pulpit, and now came the gauntlet of 
ministerial candidacy. 

Old rounders, holding the claims of diplomas and 
reverend presence, ran first, and were sorely hacked 
in their passage between the lines, for Crosscairn 
had many a sharp tongue whetted by continual prac- 
tice. Next came young aspirants with crisp parch- 
ments, newly fledged but attempting lofty flights. 
These were doves to the hawks of Crosscairn. One 
of the latter, on being taken home to dinner by a 
worthy elder of the church, after the morning ser- 
mon, saw fit to apologize for his great carnal appe- 
tite when confronted by the tempting dinner, say- 
ing he was always hungry after preaching in the 
morning, at which the worthy elder replied drily 
enough: “Weel, I’m no’ surprised, considering the 
trash that comes aff yer stomach in the mornin’.”^ 

Came in course of time gentlemen of the cloth in 
variety. Came Rev. Insipidity, pouring out the 
gospels liberally diluted. Came Rev. Bombast, fir- 

* Anecdote from Ramsay’s “ Reminiscences of Scottish Life and Char- 
acter.” 


DAVID TODD. 


5 


ing exceedingly small theological shot from an ex- 
ceedingly big and noisy gun. Came Rev. Suavity, 
soaping and lubricating his doctrine to such an ex- 
tent that he only accelerated his own pace out of 
the pulpit and parish. Came Rev. Aggressive, 
who in throwing a choice collection of warlike darts 
and thunderbolts, threw a mischievous boomerang 
which recoiled on himself. Came Reverends Farce, 
Sincerity, and Palaver in all shades of character dis- 
pensing the gospel variously. Some spreading it 
like a very thin plaster upon the soul ; some feeding 
it to the hungry soul in chunks, uncouth, coarse, and 
hard, and very indigestible ; some administering it 
as a very blue pill, and others in the same form with 
a slight coat of sugar; some all sugar and no pill. 
Diversity infinite. 

Came, in short, many candidates — and left, for 
Crosscairn on most subjects was hypercritical and 
consequently hard to please. 

Finally, came David Todd. 

He had now been for nearly fourteen years the 
pastor of Crosscairn, which spoke well, at least, for 
his character of determination and purpose, con- 
sidering the fate of his predecessors, and with these 
characteristics we have mainly to do ; the story of 
his life from this point may perhaps develop other 
characteristics. 

David Todd was preeminently a shady man. He 
professed to keep the ten commandments, without 
ostentation, but he was specially zealous in his 
obedience to that more modern commandment. 


6 


DAVID TODD. 


which some later Moses has supplemented and 
called the Eleventh, viz., “Mind your own business.” 

For fourteen years he had gone in and out before 
his people, a man of quiet and steady habits, ever 
the same, a man above just reproach and consistent 
in every emergency which the years had developed. 

He was a tall, spare man with a long, pale face, 
prominent nose and brows, and square chin, the 
face and manner indicative of one who looked be- 
yond the present and possessed boldness of purpose 
with executive ability to accomplish the purpose 
determined. Aside from these personal indications 
of character his mind and motives were not to be 
deciphered clearly. Without being absolutely se- 
cret or mysterious in his appearance or manners he 
was emphatically shady. That is, he never came out 
into any glow whatever either in his pulpit or out of 
it. It is to be doubted if he ever took the sunny 
side of the street from choice. By analogy, he had 
that about his presence which eternally suggested 
of him, indoors, sombre apartments, heavily draped, 
and walls hung with silhouette portraits of distin- 
guished undertakers. Out-of-doors he suggested 
groves and glades, dusky and umbrageous twilight 
and evening. In short, he possessed eminently that 
peculiarity which brought him indirectly in kindred 
with an astronomical event known as a solar eclipse, 
inasmuch as he seemed constantly to be seen as 
through a piece of smoked glass ; and yet David 
Todd was neither a ghoul nor a sphinx, but an 
agreeable gentleman enough, staid and serious truly. 


DAVID TODD. 


7 


with a touch of melancholy and a positive inclina- 
tion to adhere to the principles of the aforemen- 
tioned eleventh commandment. The latter was 
perhaps more noticeable in him, in view of the cha- 
racter of many of his parishioners who were noto- 
riously incapable of any zeal whatever in that 
direction. 

David Todd occupied the manse adjoining the 
parish church. The manse was an old-fashioned 
edifice standing at the head of Crosscairn’s principal 
thoroughfare, known as the Kirk Brae. A cozy, 
comfortable house, with a low roof and large dormer 
windows ; the main entrance, a heavy, oaken door, 
opened on the street, and was approached by four 
stone steps. A plain, substantial house, having a 
somewhat demure appearance, — for houses like ani- 
mals sometimes resemble the human family ; and if 
the manse might be described as men are, with pro- 
priety, it was a decent, staid, well-behaved house ; 
not given to outward show, in no wise vain or 
worldly, inclined to keep its own counsel, and hav- 
ing a religious bias somewhat severe. Even the 
younger of Crosscairn’s progeny were conscious of 
this last peculiarity, and passed the portals of the 
manse much as they would have passed its grave 
and reverend occupant. Older people recognized 
its shrewd taciturnity in having its mouth (the front 
door) invariably closed, and its eyes (the windows) 
open, — that is, the upper part of the casement over, 
looked the passer-by, at a distance from the ground 
to defy any inside inspection in return. 


8 


DAVID TODD, 


Mrs. McNeish was the presiding deity of this re- 
treat ; whose function was that of housekeeper ; in 
this and supplementary duties about the premises 
she was assisted by Sandy, her husband, who also 
attended to the horticultural department in the care 
of the glebe land attached. 

In the government of the domestic realm Mrs. 
McNeish was an absolute monarch, and Sandy, 
though royal consort, but a court minstrel, who, to 
carry out the metaphor, played second fiddle, and 
a very small fiddle at that. Finally, Mrs. McNeish* s 
domestic force was augmented by a scullery maid in 
her teens, of the species generally denominated in 
Crosscairn idiom, “Wee servant lassie,” this com- 
modity being, from time to time, as to individuality 
uncertain; inasmuch as Mrs. McNeish made fre- 
quent and periodical changes, her temper being 
such as to make it utterly impossible for one of her 
own sex to live under the same roof with her for more 
than six consecutive months. The present “wee 
lassie” was the daughter of a neighbor; Mysie McGill 
was her name, a poor little drudge who had been 
bred in a home of poverty, and who from her earliest 
years had not known any other mission on earth than 
to manipulate pots and pans at her father’s fireside, 
and mind the baby through the entire period of her 
life, there never having been an interval in her ca- 
reer when a baby was not to be cared for, with the 
fairest prospects of another similar routine in the 
fullness of time. 

Mysie was far from being a child in mind, face. 


CROSSCAIRN AND THE BLACK BULL. 9 

or form, though only one in years. She had carried 
too many burdens for her parents, stooped under 
weary loads of noisy infants, coal, wood, and water, 
had been up too late at night and too early in the 
morning, had roasted and shivered in extremes, sub- 
sisted on miserable fare, and heard so often the 
story of poverty, and seen the struggle of those who 
are born to its heritage, that nature had been handi- 
capped, and circumstances had produced trium- 
phantly an anxious, careworn, little old woman aged 
fifteen. She had been under the rule of McNeish 
about three months, fate having ordained a phe- 
nomenal revolution, in producing as a novelty in 
her father’s home a toddling child with no immi- 
nent prospect of having its nose broken. 

Such was David Todd’s household, and in this 
house, under closely identical conditions, he had 
lived ever since his advent at Crosscairn. Now, 
toward its quiet precincts he bent his steps, buried 
in thought, repeating to himself as he passed up the 
stone steps and closed the oaken door behind him, 
“I cannot take her from my heart, I cannot change 
the purpose of years, I cannot give her up.” 


CHAPTER II. 

CROSSCAIRN AND THE BLACK BULL. 

A QUAINT old seaport town is Crosscairn, lying 
at the foot of a long range of hills and look- 
ing out over a beautiful bay to the surging ocean 
beyond. Its principal street, known as the Kirk 


10 


DAVID TODD, 


Brae, extends east and west, and is a broad thorough- 
fare with continuous rows of stone houses in various 
styles of architecture, some low roofed and thatched, 
others more pretentious, with overhanging windows, 
and an occasional round tower or turreted wall 
savoring of a mediaeval age. Toward the western 
end of the street, the buildings are plain and square, 
this being the business center of the town, where, 
at the water’s edge, a wide wharf is the mart of 
Crosscairn’s commerce. Crosscairn’s commerce, 
however, being limited and its domestic trade being 
far from extensive, the traffic of business extends 
for not more than three hundred yards from the 
water, and here the Kirk Brae fades into the calm 
of a quiet street, gradually becoming more retired 
and suburban till it reaches its eastern terminus, a 
quarter of a mile distant, where it abuts the parish 
manse in a locality somewhat rural in character. 

There are a few side streets running at right angles 
from the main thoroughfare, which, in the past, had 
made pretentious attempts to rival the Kirk Brae in 
all the dignity and importance of full-grown streets, 
but like many young lives, with dreams of the fairest 
attainments in the future, have outlived the limits 
of expectation and hope, and now, instead of re- 
sounding with the hum of traffic, straggle away in 
quite a lonely and dejected course, from the first 
bold corner start, and find themselves at a distance 
of three hundred linear yards, or thereabout, in the 
midst of open fields and picturesque groves, falling 
into the innocent companionship of primitive coun- 


CROSSCAIRN AND THE BLACK BULL, II 


try lanes, and fading out of existence among pine 
forests or grassy meadows. 

From the windows of the manse, the Minister, 
looking down the Kirk Brae at sunset, could often 
contemplate a beautiful scene. At times, far away 
to the west, he saw the gorgeous hues of evening, 
glowing in the sky, in delicate tints of orange, blue, 
and tender emerald, or bolder in tone, lying streaked 
or banked in angry red, purple, and black, while 
against this wall of nature’s fresco lay the sea calm 
as a mirror, reflecting the glowing light, or dashing 
in crests, now black, now white, against the horizon. 
Here and there a white sail gleamed on the water, 
and at the shore the network of masts and rigging 
at the wharf formed a lattice, through which the 
glowing tones of color streamed and flooded the 
street, gilding every point and corner of tower, wall, 
window, and cornice, with an edge of glancing light. 

The Kirk Brae, at its business point, is known as 
the Crosscairn Quays. Here, about wide wharfs, 
are collected the objects which give evidence of 
the town’s thrift and industry. A small fleet of 
fishing-boats, with here and there a larger vessel, 
find a harbor here; and upon the wharves there is a 
confusion of boxes and casks, lumber and iron- 
mongery in variety, with, additionally interspersed, 
a boat undergoing repair or being constructed ; rem- 
nants of wrecks, in spars, shreds of sail and tangles 
of rigging ; sea craft taken hopefully from the water 
in partial wreck to become hopelessly total wreck 
on shore. Seafaring people, mingling with landsmen 


12 


DAVID TODD, 


having a rural savor, and smart young clerks, and 
complacent well-to-do merchants move about, while 
a pleasant din of hammers striking, voices calling, 
and the bustle of busy feet gives life to the scene ; 
and still above all exists a commingling of maritime 
odors of sea-water, tar, and pitch, with distinct 
smells of fish in various states and processes. 

Flanking the Quays and standing back upon the 
beach, a long row of fishermen’s huts, dingy, smoky, 
and picturesque, look out to the sea. At irregular 
intervals upon the beach, a boat is drawn up and 
long lines of fishing nets hang everywhere, drying in 
the sun and the wind. Beyond these the shore lies 
in its natural uninhabited state, in possession of old 
Ocean alone. 

From the foot of the Kirk Brae, at that point 
known as the Quays, a road extending northward 
and southward skirts the shore, with the sea in full 
view for miles along its course. A winding and 
zig-zag road, always within sound of the waves, some- 
times running so near the water that the spray falls 
upon it, as the great waves roll in and break with 
resounding boom upon the black and jagged rocks 
below, where nature in her moods has diversified 
the level beach, sometimes taking a sudden turn as 
if fearing the anger of the sea and stretching away, 
leaving a wide expanse of sandy beach between, 
with the surf racing over its level face and creeping 
to the roots of the short turf grass that borders the 
road-bed. A most delightful road to travel, on a 
pleasant summer afternoon, when the sun has gone 


CROSSCAIRN AND THE BLACK BULL, 13 


down and left his trailing robes of splendor along 
the horizon, when the sea lies calm and still under 
a mellow light, and the clouds, flecked with gold 
and crimson, grow a deeper purple, as the gray light 
of evening deepens into darkness and the uncertain 
shadows of night. A wild and lonely road on a 
dark and stormy night, when the wind, rushing in 
blasts from the distant sea, tells of disaster and 
wreck, — when the clouds, black and heavy, hide the 
stars, and the waters roar and dash in the pitchy 
darkness, — when the waves, goaded into fury, hurl 
themselves against the beetling rocks and the spray 
flies high on the wind, — when the surf moans and 
wails along the sandy beach, and the spent water 
creeps, hissing like a serpent, to the roadside. 

At the corner of the Kirk Brae, where that thor- 
oughfare joins the Quays, stands one of Crosscairn’s 
most active institutions — the Black Bull Inn, a fa- 
mous resort for Crosscairn’s male population, both 
nautical and otherwise. A signboard bearing a 
representation of an animal of the bovine species, 
in a highly ferocious attitude, with head down, glar- 
ing eyeballs, horns at a malicious angle, and tail 
erect, ending in a twirl, adorns the entrance to the 
house and gives it a name. In seeking the tap or 
sitting-room of the Black Bull, you do not come 
upon it in a jiffy, as one might say, but reach it by 
easy stages, somewhat after the manner of a candi- 
date for admission to the inner mysteries of a secret 
organization, thus: after crossing the threshold you 
find yourself in a hallway looking toward two broad, 


14 


DAVID TODD. 


steps, and a green door with an oval window; as- 
cending these steps and passing the green door you 
stand at the entrance to a long hall on either side of 
which are ranged a row of casks of uniform size, 
heads up and all painted green, suggesting a troop 
of Robin Hood’s merry men drawn up in military 
form, the atmosphere here being so alcoholic as to 
carry the conceit of bold Robin’s merry men a step 
further, indeed, and suggest as a supplementary 
thought, the suspicion that every merry man was 
addicted to the use of very ardent spirits. 

Passing the green casks and turning to the right, 
you are in the tap room, a cozy place with sanded 
floor and walls hung with pictures of the race-course 
and the chase in very strong colors. Facing the 
door stands the shrine of Bacchus ; behind it long 
lines of long-necked bottles standing like a synod of 
sober divines on parade, thickset pewter tankards, 
looking like sleek and opulent merchants standing 
for their pictures at the Board of Trade, stocky lit- 
tle stone tobys, looking like lusty drovers in gray 
smocks at a country fair, slender-waisted wine- 
glasses, looking like very genteel, but somewhat 
consumptive young ladies at a female seminary; 
decanters, lemons, long clay pipes, etc., etc., the 
whole array surmounted by a bull’s head (the work 
of a taxidermist) whose horns (the bull’s), short and 
polished, are bright with favors and tipped with silver. 

It was here that all questions private or state 
were discussed. There was no subject whatever 
that the frequenters of the Black Bull lyceum would 


CROSSCAlkJV AND THE BLACK BULL. 1 $ 

not grapple with, whether of things ‘*in heaven 
above, or earth beneath, or the waters under the 
earth.” The Black Bull tap, every night, was an 
adjourned meeting of parliament, a cabinet of state 
ministers, a council of arbitrators. Did the Queen 
send forth an address, the Pope a dogma, or the 
Czar a manifesto, the Black Bull censors, sitting in 
council, accepted or repudiated. Did a congress 
of political long-heads produce an opinion as to 
international law, the Black Bull parliament de- 
nounced or praised it (generally the former). Did 
David Todd utter a new thought from the pulpit of 
the parish church, the critics of the Black Bull 
analyzed its orthodoxy and pronounced judgment. 
Did old Nanny Clark get a cabbage on credit at the 
green-grocer’s, this council brought down upon her 
a mature and deliberate condemnation. Oh, but 
they were choice judges of affairs! every man had 
an opinion to vent and every man sat in judgment 
on his neighbor. “O Lord, I thank Thee, etc.,” 
as aforesaid. 

The proprietor of the Black Bull, a very stout, 
red-faced individual, looking as though his cuticle 
would crack under the pressure of another ounce of 
nutriment, and suggesting when he laughed, coughed, 
or sneezed, a horrible case of apoplexy, rejoiced 
in the name of Bob Cherry. His nose was an object 
of interest to all who saw it. In its bulbous form 
and warm color it suggested his name readily, though 
a careful observer of some imagination might have 
contended that a strawberry was a better compari- 


i6 DAVID TODD, 

son on account of the perforated character of its 
surface, while a person given to justifiable hyper- 
bole might have likened it to a highly inflamed and 
angry felon. 

Bob Cherry stood behind the bar on the evening 
of the Minister’s visit to the Squire’s, while the cus- 
tomary members of the Black Bull parliament were 
lounging about, chatting in groups or skirmishing in 
advance of the more important issues that might 
arise later. Hugh Dickie, a prominent villager, had 
entered the tap only a moment before. Hugh was 
a stout, florid, rather good-looking man, dressed in 
a comfortable and well-made suit of gray ; the type 
of such men as one sees often at country fairs, re- 
ferred to as a competent judge of live stock, particu- 
larly bulls of fine breed and race-horses of enviable 
pedigree. A man who had a presence and who 
would have been remarked where others of a superior 
order might have passed unnoticed. 

Hugh Dickie, as land factor to Squire Amphlett, 
held a somewhat important standing in Crosscairn 
and vicinity among a great many persons in divers 
stations and grades in life, the prominent reasons 
for this being, first, that his position was considered 
particularly a respectable and responsible one, re- 
quiring special experience and knowledge ; second, 
that he had considerable patronage to dispense in 
procuring the labor and much of the material requi- 
site to the proper conduct of Squire Amphlett’s 
estate of Dalmelington. In manner Hugh Dickie 
was free and had a tongue sharpened to the edge. 


crosscairN- aistd the black bull. 17 

Hugh Dickie, entering the tap, paid prompt trib- 
ute at the shrine, and stood listening to a member 
from nowhere in particular whose sentiments found 
vent as follows : 

“As I was sayin’, auld Dr. Cameron will never 
ha’e his place filled wi’ as guid a man. It’s a pity 
that wi’ a’ his knowledge o’ pills, plasters, and 
draughts, he canna mak’ himsel’ young again. Gin 
young John Hopson tak’s his place, as I hear he will, 
the grave-digger will ha’e his hands fu’.’’ 

Hugh broke in bluntly: “An’ whar did ye get 
a’ yer knowledge o’ the medical profession, ma 
frien’? Ha’e ye been tae college wi’ young Hopson 
an’ learned that he’s no’ up tae the mark? I tell 
ye, ma man, it’s high time there was a funeral at 
Dr. Cameron’s, — the auld pill-maker has sent scores 
o’ patients tae the next warld, an’ it’s high time he 
gaed there himsel’ tae count them.’’ 

“Deed, he’ll ha’e mair departed spirits tae count 
gin young Hopson tak’s up the trade,’’ was the re- 
tort. 

“I grant ye that,” said Hugh, squaring himself 
for continued debate and laying his right forefinger 
on the palm of his left hand. “I grant ye that, but 
Hopson wi’ his improved knowledge o’ the present 
day an’ a’ the experience o’ the past in medicine, 
will save mair sick folk than the auld doctor kills, 
which is sayin’ a vera great deal. Ye shouldna’ say 
oucht against a young man, because he is young, 
when he has learned a’ the auld. No, no. Dr. 
Cameron may be guid enough, when there is 


i8 


DAVID TODD. 


nae better tae be had, but young John Hopson will 
be better ; besides, the lad is as fair an’ likely a youth 
as ane can find. Ye ken him, dinna ye? He's 
auld Andrew Hopson’s son, Andrew Hopson o’ Car- 
rick Road ; there’s no’ a better man in a’ the toun.” 

“Except the Minister, Todd,” said one. 

“Nae exceptions,’’ said Hugh, “least of a’ Todd. 
Todd’s nae better than the warst o’ us, or even Bob 
Cherry there..’’ 

This raised a laugh at Cherry’s expense, “Let 
me tell ye,’’ said Cherry, when the laugh had sub- 
sided — “Let me tell ye why Dickie doesna like the 
Minister. Look ye! the guid man preached a ser- 
mon aboot the Deevil, or his archangel. I’m no’ 
sure which, the last time Dickie was at the kirk. 
When the kirk was oot, says Dickie: ‘Weel, that’s 
the last time I’ll listen tae a man wha will stand in 
the pulpit and expose me before the whole congre- 
gation.’ ’’ 

Here Cherry, who had kept a supernaturally sober 
face, grew red and purple, the veins in his forehead 
began to swell, his eyes threatened to roll out upon 
his cheeks, and he gurgled his mirth and shook his 
fat sides, ending the paroxysm by coughing vio- 
lently, clawing frantically at his neckcloth, and 
sinking down exhausted. 

“Awa wi’ ye, ye auld sinner!’’ laughed Hugh; 
“are ye no’ afeard o’ a judgment? I dinna wonder 
ye’r near choked wi’ yer evil words: ’gin David 
Todd saw ye noo, he’d preach a sermon on the 
judgment o’ Ananias.’’ 


CROSSCAIRN AND THE BLACK BULL. 19 

The company laughed heartily; meantime glasses 
clinked, and the smoke from the pipes went wreath- 
ing itself to the ceiling in fantastic shapes. 

“The Squire is aff at Edinboro’, I hear.” This 
from Sandy McNeish, who found rest of an even- 
ing here, after the cares of a day spent under the 
government of his wife. 

“Ay,” replied Hugh, “there since Wednesday 
last. ’■ 

“He’s aff tae Edinboro’ much o’ late,” said 
another. 

“I’d no’ say,” chimed in the man who had de- 
preciated young Hopson, “but there is something 
wrang at Dalmelington” ; then turning to Hugh, 
“What does the Squire gang tae Edinboro’ for?” 

“Tae see the Castle belike,” retorted Hugh 
bluntly. 

“He micht buy a picture o’ it, an’ see it, wi’ 
mair ease and less trouble,” was the instant re- 
joinder; then addressing the others : “It’s a castle 
in the air he gangs tae see ; ye ken the Squire is aye 
at his speculations; tak’ my word, friends, he wad- 
na’ gang sae aften tae Edinboro, unless the fear o’ 
losing pounds, shillin’s, an’ pence ca’d him there. ” 

Hugh turned to the speaker and, with a great 
deal of natural dryness, delivered himself of the 
following : 

“Ye’r a vera wise man, Tammy. Solomon in 
a’ his glory was na’ a circumstance tae you. Ye’r 
an unco’ guid hand at the gab, an’ ye ken a’ aboot 
the Squire an’ his speculations, nae doot ; but let 


20 DAVID T0D3. 

me beg o’ you, ma braw lad, as ye ken sae muckle 
noo dinna seek for ony mair, or ye’r head will no’ 
be able tae contain it. There, man, there, tak’ ma 
advice an’ just daunner awa hame tae ye’r ain fire- 
side. ’ ’ Saying which, Hugh laid a patronizing hand 
on the man’s shoulder, and pursing up his mouth 
with an air of mock profundity, turned away. 


CHAPTER HI. 

DALMELINGTON. 

S QUIRE AMPHLETT was a well-bred and 
educated man, possessed of many good quali- 
ties. He was outspoken in his sentiments, which, 
owing to a somewhat excitable and nervous disposi- 
tion, were often radical. One of those men who, 
perhaps honestly enough, was prone to form a hasty 
and false judgment, and, having formed it, was 
liable to support it by a very fair and rational opin- 
ion thereafter. It was a difficult matter for him to 
go back over the course his opinions had taken, and, 
finding it a fair and reasonable one at every step, to 
arrive at the first judgment and discern in it any- 
thing unjust. His philosophy was hardly temper- 
ate enough to assume the possibility of a just course 
of reasoning originating from an outrageously false 
basis. Perhaps no course of thought is more com- 
mon among men than that which begins in an as- 
sumption of fact and reasons by consecutive steps of 
real and solid truth. 

In business dealings Squire Amphlett was shrewd, 


DALMEUNG TOI^. 2 1 

though liable to fall into the error stated, and this 
same shrewdness had more than once turned him 
back and enabled him to value his reconsideration 
in pounds, shillings and pence. Perhaps he was a 
trifle too eager for gain, giving undue importance to 
worldly estate, ready to follow Shakespeare's words, 
“Put money in thy purse," as a first principle, 
other considerations being secondary. It must not 
be inferred, however, that he was in any sense knav- 
ish — quite the reverse ; for example : 

'Lawyer McKenzie came to him one day and 
said: "I see a way by which we may each make 
one hundred pounds with little or no risk. I will 
state the case and you are to transact the prelimi- 
nary business ; then at the close I will come in, as 
a taint of a lawyer's appearance in an early stage 
might overthrow the whole affair." 

"Well, state it," said Squire Amphlett. Mr. 
McKenzie straightwith divulged his scheme. 

"You know Andrew Abercrombie of Airdmill, 
the genius who has been so long perfecting a ma- 
chine that is to revolutionize the whole manufacture 
of woven silk ; well, after living in poverty for most 
of his life, working night and day at his invention, 
and having borrowed of some half-dozen liberal 
individuals money to carry on his work, he finds at 
last no more at his disposal, so is obliged to grub 
along at his daily work, spending all he earns in the 
day upon the machine he devotes his nights to. His 
creditors have given up all hopes of him or his inven- 
tion, and hold his notes as so much waste-paper. 


22 


DAVID TODD. 


When lo, what does our puttering genius Abercrom- 
bie do, but bring his idea to perfection, and taking 
it to Glasgow enter into negotiations with a vast 
weaving firm (I have the whole affair in legal confi- 
dence) to give him a thousand pounds sterling for 
his invention and a royalty for its use. This genius 
will be in possession of the money in a few days, and 
no one but ourselves know it. Of course, Aber- 
crombie will redeem his notes, for his name is integ- 
rity. Now for my plan. His creditors hold his 
notes at a nominal value at the most. I’ll give you 
the names of all of them ; they’ll be happy to part 
with the paper at any price, and count you a fool 
for taking it. The notes may be bought for five per 
cent, of their face. Having once these notes in our 
hands, I go at once to Abercrombie and let him know 
that the notes have all been put in my hands for col- 
lection, and if he does not settle immediately legal 
steps will be taken. He pays at once, for he is 
honest and simple, and we make between us several 
hundred pounds with little or no outlay of time or 
money, and no risk whatever.” 

The lawyer’s eyes twinkled, and he smiled greedi- 
ly as he buried his right hand in the inside pocket 
of his coat to produce the names of the geese to be 
plucked. 

Squire Amphlett arrested the motion, however, by 
answering in a loud voice and with a very red face: 

“How dare you come to me, sir, with such a pro- 
posal! Do you think I could be a party to such a 
piece of low business cunning? Do you think I will 


DA LMELING TON. 




take advantage of a knowledge I have no right to use 
and am dishonestly possessed off? Do you think 
I will steal the just value due those men who were 
liberal enough and noble enough to help a strug- 
gling man, and who, in the midst of his poverty, 
had faith in his genius and integrity? Do you think 
I will swoop down like a hawk upon an honest, 
simple-hearted man in the first flush of his hope and 
success, after years of toil and privation, to rifle his 
pockets and to intimidate him with the sham pursuit 
of the law? Do you think — Confound you, you 
scoundrel! — how dare you come to me with your 
low trickery? Hang your impudence, if you do not 
get out of my presence I’ll put you out, you infer- 
nal knave !” 

On the whole Squire Amphlett was a man of gener- 
ous feelings in pursuit of legitimate g^in, exacting 
his due and giving freely and without stint. 

In his domestic and social relations he was a most 
amiable gentleman, a companion, a friend, a father. 
Governing these offices, however, but seldom show- 
ing itself, there was an underlying element regulat- 
ing all; the element of authority, or rather determi- 
nation to rule over the destinies of others, very 
particularly of those of his own household ; or as 
one of his gardeners had roughly outlined him : “A 
ceevil body enough, when a’ things did his biddin’, 
but, ma certie! a clipper o’ whins when the bowls 
didna rin tae his mind.” 

Originally, he had been a young man of limited 
means and of good family, inheriting a small patri- 


24 


DA VID TODD, 


mony ; but his wife brought him a comfortable for- 
tune in money and the homestead and estate of Dal- 
melington, which he now occupied, Dalmelington 
ranking as the fairest little estate among the pictur- 
esque homes of Crosscairn’s neighborhood. 

His wife, dying two years after her marriage, left 
him an infant daughter, Grace. To this child he had 
devoted his life and had reared her to womanhood, 
with the help of a maiden sister. Miss Edith Amph- 
lett, who was as a mother to the little child from the 
day when the young wife had been laid in the grave. 

No sour spinster was Miss Edith, but as sweet a 
lady as Crosscairn numbered in all its borders ; tall 
and stately (her brother was very much like her in 
personal appearance), her hair silvered with fifty 
years of life, she was still beautiful, while her charac- 
ter was of a most lovable type, cheerful always, and 
constant in many well formed and developed graces. 
Just the right companion for your daughter, my 
worthy friend. A chaperone eminently qualified to 
guide a young girl into the sphere of a useful and 
beautiful womanhood. 

Under the influence of such a lady, it is not strange 
that a girl with natural endowments should become 
a woman of a very desirable type, and so it was that 
Grace Amphlett, at the age of twenty-one, albeit a 
sinner as the phrase goes, was a young woman in a 
thousand. Beside the considerations of beauty and 
character, there was another item which helped to 
increase the sum total of this young lady’s desira- 
bility, viz., she was an hdress, 


DALMELING TON. 


25 


On the death of her mother, by prearranged be- 
quest the estate of Dalmelington fell to her, to be 
held in trust by her father as sole administrator and 
trustee ; at the same time ten thousand pounds were 
left in her father’s hands to be inv^ested for her 
special profit and behoof. 

Although the estate of Dalmelington occupied the 
Squire’s time and attention to some extent, it pro- 
duced no revenue other than that needed for its 
maintenance and supply, these being somewhat im- 
portant items, however, inasmuch as its dependents 
existed in considerable force, in the person of a fac- 
tor and about ten regular hands in various depart- 
ments of stable and field ; beside these there were 
usually five or six domestics required to attend to 
the necessary work of the house itself. 

The most of the conduct of the estate Squire 
Amphlett left to his factor, who managed it admir- 
ably, the Squire devoting his time principally to col- 
lecting rents, and looking after interest on invest- 
ments made, or seeking better and more profitable 
investments. In this latter speculative course he 
had several times been successful, and perhaps as 
often otherwise. 

It was the morning after the minister’s visit, and 
Miss Edith Amphlett and Grace sat together over a 
late breakfast, the Squire being absent, transacting 
important business at Edinburgh, and not expected 
back for several weeks. In answer to a question 
from Grace, Miss Edith explained: 

“Yes, Grace, I had an intimation from your fath- 


26 


DAVID TODD. 


er that Mr. Todd entertained this sentiment toward 
you, but it was only a day or two since that he 
alluded to it, and then in such a very indifferent 
way that I thought it hardly important or serious 
enough to speak of.” 

‘‘And was it not definite enough to foretell the 
event of yesterday?” asked Grace, just the least bit 
inclined to take offense at her aunt’s silence on the 
subject. 

‘‘No, dear,” replied Miss Edith; “it was a very 
casual intimation I received, or certainly I should 
have thought it proper and necessary to speak to 
you. I had not dreamt of the course that has been 
taken, and indeed, Grace, nothing could have aston- 
ished me more exceedingly than this denouement. 
Why, my dear, when your father spoke of the mat- 
ter, it was only in the most general way, with no 
direct language that could have led me to think the 
affair in any sense serious, or imminent.” 

‘‘Well, it is very strange,” said Grace, with the 
merest suggestion of a pout upon her pretty face, 
‘‘for Mr. Todd several times alluded to father, and 
spoke of his last interview with him as having led 
him to hope.” 

‘‘It is indeed strange, dear Grace, that brother 
should have thought the matter of so little moment, 
as to speak of it to me in such a very casual manner. 
Let me see if I cannot recall his words,” said Miss 
Edith, elevating her eyebrows and placing her fore- 
finger upon her temple. ‘‘Let me see,” she re- 
peated, invoking memory to turn back a few pages 


DALMELINGTON. 


27 


of her record for special inspection. ‘‘It was on 
Wednesday afternoon last. I had been out to see 
poor Mrs. Dickie, who had been taken ill the day 
before, and I had returned only a few minutes when 
brother came into the room, walking very slowly, 
with his head bent, and his face wearing a troubled 
look. I remember that very distinctly, for I felt 
alarmed slightly, and asked him, what was the mat- 
ter? He seemed surprised at seeing me there, as I 
had expected to be absent all day and asked me in 
return, what could be the matter? Then dismiss- 
ing that subject somewhat impatiently, he inquired 
when I had returned. I told him, and we talked for 
some time of different* things, principally of what 
news I had brought home from the Dickies. At 
length, after exhausting several subjects, Mr. Todd’s 
name was mentioned by one of us — I forget which — 
and brother said: I think I can recall his exact 
words, — he said: ‘By the way, Edith, I think Mr. 
Todd’s frequent visits have more than a pastoral 
significance at Dalmelington.’ I thought at the 
time, to be candid with you, that he was trying to 
poke a little fun at me, for, being unmarried, I 
have been subjected of course, to many such pleas- 
antries in my life. I looked puzzled, was conscious 
of smiling, and just forming an answer to the effect 
that I had served my time as a target for such 
shafts, when he continued: ‘You women receive 
credit for being far-sighted in love affairs, and for 
being able to foretell matrimonial events with a 
spirit of prophecy, but I think I have beaten you 


28 


DAVID TODD, 


this time and discovered a new purpose in the min- 
ister’s visits, which you, with all your woman’s wit 
and foresight, have not dreamed. Mr. Todd comes 
here with more than a pastor’s interest in a certain 
young lady named Grace Amphlett.’ I said: ‘Do 
you think so?’ He answered pleasantly : ‘I think I 
have given you sufficient information ; now set your 
brains at work and see if you cannot weave from 
this thread an interesting romance. You women 
are apt at these things.’ While we talked Hugh 
entered with the letter which called your father 
away so hastily to Edinburgh, and we had no further 
opportunity for conversation on the subject. In- 
deed, you remember, Hugh had hardly time to fetch 
the horses and drive to Airdmill, in time for the 
Edinburgh night express.” 

“Perhaps father thinks a matter of this kind a 
very simple and every-day affair,’’ said Grace, tap- 
ping her neatly slippered foot upon the rug some- 
what nervously, “but it is, I can assure him, and I 
will when he returns, a very embarrassing position 
for any unsuspecting young woman to be placed in. 
Imagne my feelings, when the reverend gentleman 
broke the startling news to me. There I was, chat- 
ting away composedly, regaling him with the choicest 
bits of small talk, when the truth dawned upon me 
by gradual stages. I tried to lead the conversation 
into remote commonplaces, but to no avail. Mr. 
Todd was earnest and persistent in aiming to bring 
about his confession, and would not be put aside. 
At length I became conscious that to pretend not tg 


DALMELINGTOI/, 


29 


know the drift of his remarks would be an affront 
to his intelligence, so when I recognized his position 
he addressed himself fully and with a great deal of 
quiet earnestness to the point. Was ever anything 
so sudden and unlooked-for?” 

“Why, Grace, he must have given you some hint 
of this before; some suggestion of word or act.” 

“No, not at all. I was thunderstruck, but I did 
not appear wholly so to him. I was simply sur- 
prised in a highly dignified and genteel way.” 

“But, Grace dear, surely you must see in the light 
of his revelation of last evening some things which 
pointed to this in the past.” 

“No, not a thing.” 

“Not a word? Some trifling circumstance? Not 
even a look?” 

“Nothing, absolutely nothing. Aunt Edith. Of 
course father has always had a high opinion of Mr. 
Todd, and has sounded his praise frequently, but 
I never saw in that more than you saw, and, iu your 
own confession, you never had a suspicion of this 
till last Wednesday when father gave you a hint, 
which you thought of so little importance as not to 
mention. ” 

Aunt Edith winced the merest ghost of wincing, 
simply lowered her eyelids and lifted them, then 
said: “He has called frequently at Dalmelington of 
late.” 

“Yes,” said Grace, “but he has done the same 
at many another house in Crosscairn, when advice 
and spiritual aid were required.” 


30 


DAVID TODD, 


“Did you not think by the frequency of his visits 
that there was something unusual in his thoughts?” 

‘‘No, no more than you did, Aunt Edith, and 
doubtless if I had given it a thought it would have 
been to suppose that he considered me falling from 
grace and in need of support.” 

‘‘You might have thought he came iox grace him- 
self.” 

“Aunt Edith, is that a pun?” 

“Yes, dear, but I crave your pardon.” 

“I grant it, but conditionally; if you are ever 
guilty again. I’ll send a note to the good minister 
with these words : ‘Please call on Miss Edith Amph- 
lett, she is sorely in need of Christian admonition’; 
but seriously. Aunt Edith, I never gave his visits 
any thought whatever, aside from the ordinary one 
that he found it agreeable to number us among his 
friends. Besides, Aunt Edith, how could I have 
known he cared especially for me? he never inti- 
mated it in any way ; I had never been in his com- 
pany alone until last evening. You or father have 
always received him in company with me ; I sup- 
posed he came more to see father and you than to 
see me. ” 

“Well,” said Miss Edith, rising and ringing for 
the maid, ‘‘aside from the fact which now seems to 
be worthy of remark, the fact that brother has 
spoken much of Mr. Todd of late, and in words of 
special praise, there can be nothing besides the fre- 
quency of his visits by which this matter could have 
been foreseen ; but strange and sudden as it is, one 


DALMELINGTON. 


31 


thing is certain, Mr. Todd never addressed you in 
this wise without having obtained your father’s con- 
sent to do so.” 

The maid entering, the ladies remained silent, 
Miss Edith sitting with her hands folded placidly in 
her lap, while Grace, going to the window, stood 
looking out thoughtfully. 

A buxom lass this housemaid just entering, and 
looking exceedingly fresh and pretty in her white 
cap and apron, as she deftly busied herself about the 
breakfast-table. A coquette in every motion, this 
pretty housemaid, and many a swain in the neighbor- 
hood knew her power as such and had good reason 
to fear it. Pretty Bessie Dickie had a weakness for 
conquest. It was off with the old and on with the 
new with her, whenever opportunity offered. Her 
father, Hugh Dickie, factor to the Squire, had often, 
in his shrewd way, made the general remark: 
“Never let ae rope slip frae your hand ’til ye’ve a 
guid grip o’ anither,” and Bessie had applied this 
precept in the conduct of her coquetry. She was 
all smiles and blandishments to muscular young far- 
mer Ruecastle till the new gardener Thomas came 
upon the scene. By the time susceptible young 
Thomas was ready to lay down his life for fair Bessie, 
Ruecastle was obliged to feed his heart upon the 
husks of snubs and indifference. So rose Gardener 
Thomas and flourished in the warmth of Bessie’s 
smiles, much as his plants flourished in the sun ; but 
brief the bliss of Thomas. On the advent of rollick- 
ing Harry, the carrier, Thomas awoke to find that 


32 


DAVID TODD. 


bright dream was his last, — and so progressed 
Bessie, a siren in her practices and an adept in her 
art. 

At present she was out of active employment, ex- 
cept that of still torturing Thomas the gardener, 
but, scanning the Crosscairn horizon, she had several 
destined victims in her eye and waited her time 
complacently, collecting ribbons and gew-gaws, and 
perfecting herself in languishing glances, winning 
smiles and poses, by a frequent use of every availa- 
ble looking-glass in the house. At one time, behold 
her in the drawing-room, making dignified curtseys 
before the full-length mirror, smiling encouragingly 
askance, pouting, — one-quarter offended and three- 
quarters pleased, — tossing her pretty head in lofty 
disdain, and again posing in the attitude of a tragic 
muse. Behold her between times, consulting minor 
points and improving her art by the aid of a pocket 
glass. 

“Vanity, vanity, all is vanity, saith the preacher.” 

Mr. Todd preached upon that subject at times, 
but Bessie, sitting demurely in her pew, thought all 
his shafts leveled at some other person. It was 
seldom the minister’s hearers recognized themselves 
in his sermons, but saw the faults and follies of 
their neighbors very distinctly, (See first chapter) 
“Lord, I thank Thee I am not as other men.” 

“Bessie,” said Aunt Edith, after a few minutes 
of silence, “did Squire Amphlett receive any callers 
last Wednesday afternoon before he left for Edin- 
burgh?” 


DALMELING TON. 


33 


*'Yes, mem,” answered Bessie, ”the minister 
ca*ed.” 

“Did he make a very long visit?” 

“He must have staid twa ’oors wi* the Squire. I 
thoucht the time longer than it actually was, mem, 
bceause I had left a package I was to gi’e tae Miss 
Grace, upon the library table, an’ I didna like tae 
gang in for it after the minister cam’. I was sore- 
ly put ’oot, for I had promised tae gang doon the 
toun that afternoon an’ I couldna gang ’til I had 
delivered the package. I stood at the door for a 
lang time before I had the courage tae knock. The 
Squire, when I did knock, said ‘Come in,’ and in I 
went. I ken I blushed crimson when I took the 
package, but the twa gentlemen were sae busy that 
they took little heed o’ me.” 

Grace made a slight movement at the window, 
and Aunt Edith said calmly: “Then they were very 
busy talking when you entered?” 

“Weel, I canna’ say a’thegether, they were talk- 
in,’ but they were baith busy drawin’ lang faces. 
The minister was standin’ as though he had just 
said, ‘Let us pray,’ and the Squire lookin’ as sad 
as Elder Crawford when the minister says ‘A col- 
lection will noo be taken up,’ but I just grabbed 
the package an’ hardly gave a look at them” ; with 
which remark, tray in hand, Bessie whisked out of 
the room. 

Grace came from the window, and Aunt Edith, 
putting her arm about her, said gently: “There is 
no doubt of it, Grace, your father and Mr. Todd 


34 


DAVID TODD. 


have talked the matter over deliberately,” and then 
in an offended tone somewhat to herself : “I know 
your father has a very high opinion of Mr. Todd, 
but that is no reason for his wishing to marry you 
off without consulting me in the matter.” 

“Or me,” suggested Grace. 

“True,” said Aunt Edith, “or you.” 


CHAPTER IV. 

PULPIT AND PEW. 

D avid TODD from the pulpit looked over his 
congregation and beheld a motley company of 
sinners. 

Whenever he left alone the beginning of the 
world and the end of the world ; when he dropped 
theology in the abstract and shook from his sandals 
the dry dust of those much-trodden roads, doc- 
trines and ordinances, and forsook the myriad foot- 
paths leading from them, he had but to look over 
his flock to find a practical subject for a discourse 
upon a hundred real faults, follies, and vices. 

David Todd had no need to put on his glasses 
when surveying his parishioners, to discover, scat- 
tered throughout the pews, the world, the flesh, and 
the devil. The triumvirate was there. 

In one pew sat Cant and his family. Cant him- 
self was a scoundrel, and he had a family plausible, 
tricky, and treacherous. They were a peculiarly 
marked group in the matter of identical vocal organs ; 
they whined in unison, and were readily recognized 


PULPIT AhW PE tv. 35 

by this and the strong family likeness they bore to 
one another in the length of their faces. 

In another pew, well forward, directly under the 
reverend minister’s nose, sat Pride — a bloated old 
reprobate, with his haughty family beside him. In 
the matter of noses there was a strong family resem- 
blance. 

Not far away sat Hypocrisy — a cringing rascal, 
having a strong likeness to Cant in the length of 
his features. At one end of the pew sat his wife, 
with a bold front in contrast to her husband, while 
a numerous family sat between, with features in 
gradual modification of expression similar to their 
parents. 

Envy had his pew, and iu his greed could not 
hear the sermon, in thinking how he would like to 
change seats with Pride. 

Slander with his wicked kindred having colonized 
in the parish, was represented in good force among 
the pews ; while Ignorance, with a submissive mien, 
and his brother, with an impudent grin, occupied 
their respective pews, one in the back row and the 
other nearer the pulpit. Truth and Sincerity were 
there also, but the pews were so high and straight 
in the back, and the seats so hard, that they did 
not look comfortable. 

Crosscairn, being remote from the crowded dwell- 
ings of the great world, and being somewhat bound 
up within its own scope, had seen not a little inter- 
marriage of its own people, consequently among 
the Minister’s pewholders there was a general rela- 


36 


DAVID TODD. 


tionship and a mixing up of family traits, so that the 
characteristics of Cant, Pride and Company were 
conjoined in the persons of not a few of the 
Minister’s parishioners. 

David Todd, looking from the pulpit, • seldom 
missed his people from their pews. They were 
regular attendants, and sat before him day after day, 
year in and year out, while he read from the book 
before him all sorts of denunciation, and preached 
sermons in which he drew' word -pictures of his 
people, and, so to speak, presented the pew-holders 
with life-like photographs of themselves. 

Whenever he drew a particularly fine and life-like 
picture, the individual who sat for the picture in- 
variably viewed it complacently, and recognized his 
neighbor as being drawn to perfection. 

The Minister preached some good sermons. There 
were times when he stepped aside from the stock 
verbosity of his calling and gave his people good, 
sound advice, and lifted them to a higher plane of 
earthly life. Sometimes he even rose to eloquence, 
and, in the dignity of quiet fervor and sincerity, 
dropped pearls of great price among the pew's, which 
were occasionally picked up, but as a rule the people 
of Crosscairn did not like every-day wisdom uttered 
from the pulpit. It was not strictly orthodox, they 
said. 

They w'ould sit like wdse old owls flattered into 
importance, whenever he attempted to disentangle 
some knotty theological snarl, and nod their heads 
knowingly, with a pretense of profundity, when he 


PULPIT AND PEW. 


37 


mystified them with an intricate puzzle which he 
did not himself understand. Said one old deacon : 
“I dinna like tha simple sermons whilk onybody 
can comprehend. Gie me them that confound the 
sense and joomble the judgment.'' 

Although the Minister received a good share of 
reverence, and, in many instances, a consideration 
only a little short of idolatry, though he was saluted 
as a mental superior (as indeed he was) and looked 
up to by many as more than human (which indeed 
he was not), yet he was not exempt from the general 
criticism, but, on the contrary, was a target for 
many a sharp and poisonous shaft. Some of those 
who fairly v/rithed in their obeisance before him 
were the boldest in their slanders, and even ven- 
tured, when facts were scarce, to expand a puny 
conjecture into an active and able-bodied lie. Some 
of the Minister's parishioner were not so deceitful, 
but under the plea of bluntness and honest frank- 
ness were impudent and cruel. 

One old deacon took him to task, as a friend, for 
looking at the clock during the sermon, and said: 
“The gospel is no' tae be preached wi' regard to 
'oors an' minutes. Ye'd dae better tae preach 'til 
ye ha'e nae mair tae say, an’ no’ mind the clock." 
Another told him, as a friend: “If ye'd keep ye'r 
pulpit in Crosscairn ye'd dae weel tae gang tae the 
pulpit wi' mair preparation.'' There was wisdom 
in the advice, but its motive was to deprecate and 
slur. 

Despite the cankers of the parish, the Minister, 


38 


DAVID TODD, 


with a calm and deliberate exterior, pursued the 
even tenor of his way and gave his opinions from 
the pulpit only. He was such a steady-going, dis- 
passionate man, that his parishioners did not know 
where to have him. Some said he was a good man. 
Some said he was no better than he should be, and 
some were in doubt. Whatever David Todd was, 
however, the development of events will show, while 
in regard to his parishioners coming events cannot 
make more certain the fact of their shortcomings. 

My friend interrupts me to ask: “What! were 
there no good people in Crosscairn?” 

Why, bless your heart, yes, people with warm 
hearts; people with wise heads, honest, intelligent 
men and women, but they all might have been 
better. 

“But,*’ my friend persists, “do you think denun- 
ciation like yours could make them better?’’ 

I do not know. David Todd had preached to 
them for fifteen years, and they had not been con- 
verted. 


CHAPTER V. 

MORE ABOUT THE MINISTER. 

D avid TODD sat at his table, late at night, 
leaning his head upon his hand and looking 
thoughtful. His mind was filled with crowding 
thoughts, and as they came to him his whole earn- 
est nature met them, interpreted them, and felt 
their fullest meaning. 


MO/^E ABOUT THE MINISTER. 


39 


Looking backward, his mind was busy, setting in 
order and contemplating the occurrences of the 
years which had made up his existence in Cross- 
cairn. He reviewed the routine of his life, since^ 
the day when, with a sincere ardor, but indefinite 
and immature thought, he had arrived at Cross- 
cairn, filled with the sole purpose of performing the 
duties of his office, free from any distracting influ- 
ence of worldly pleasures or hopes, a religious devo- 
tee reared at home and school to a narrow view of 
life, life bounded at the one end by birth and at the 
other by death, with a dry desert of formal religious 
duties between. As an outcome of this view he had 
graduated with one central idea, viz., that every 
man was a weary pilgrim with a huge bagful of in- 
herited sins on his back, traveling through a wicked 
and unsatisfactory world to a realm of dazzling suns 
and golden streets. In those days he could not see 
the pilgrim with little or no load, traveling along 
joyously, enjoying with a grateful heart the beauty 
and the good about him in the garden in which he 
walked, stopping by the way to share his joy with 
others, and to partake of their sorrows, using aright 
all his senses for the purposes for which they ex- 
isted, and lying down at length to rest, at the end 
of all, in the quiet of the grave, awaiting the reward 
of a wide and completed mission. 

He found in looking back over this period, by 
the light of maturer thought and experience, that 
the retrospective view brought to him a smile of 
contempt at the character of his youthful purposes. 


40 


DAVID TODD. 


From these thoughts he turned to ponder the suc- 
cessive thoughts and feelings which came to him 
later as a more ripened and thoughtfully earnest 
manhood grew upon him. 

Sitting here alone in his room, the loneliness, the 
lack Of completeness of his life, which he had felt 
at that time, came again to him to-day. The dull, 
theoretical and one-sided existence which he had 
marked out, with its dreary purpose of sacrificing 
all the joys of his life as a means of gaining future 
joys for others, occupied his mind, in the same 
thoughts which had been before prevalent there. 
Years before, he had become gradually conscious 
that this life of partial hermitage and restricted 
thought and action was unnatural and unsatisfactory, 
regarding himself, and of doubtful profit to others. 
He had asked himself the question: How can a 
young life bred under the influence of one rigid senti- 
ment, and educated in a sectarian school of dog- 
matic opinions, go into the wide world of living, 
struggling men, and administer to their welfare and 
happiness by following a set course laid down by 
opinionated ancients, who never knew the condi- 
tions or needs of the present, and who thought in 
one direction only and walked in a narrow strip of 
life? 

After a long post-graduate course in the school of 
experience, he was prepared to know the needs of 
men better, in fact to know his own needs better, 
to pray and meditate less as a formality and to act 
more. Gradually he became less of the priest and 


MORE ABOUT THE MINISTER, 


41 


more of the man. Stepping out of a realm of musty 
books and defunct saints, he found that real events 
and living men were all around him, and that he 
was one of them ; groping his way out of a dark 
antiquity and the uncertain glimmer of a vague 
futurity, he found the bright sun shining upon the 
fresh, beautiful, green earth, and the present full of 
active realities. 

Under similar conditions of training varied only 
by diverse opinions he might have thought that for 
a man to shave his head and live in a hole, poring 
over a record of what had once existed, and groan- 
ing over foretold destiny, was a profitable and proper 
way to ameliorate the lot of men, particularly after 
they were dead. In short, in his peculiarly sombre 
nature it was natural for him under all the circum- 
stances to consecrate himself to that which he pon- 
dered deeply, and to commune with himself away 
from the world. 

The Minister recalled his feelings from the time 
he had adopted a wider and healthier train of 
thought, and at this point memory, presenting her 
views in panoramic order, brought out a picture 
which caused his heart to throb with an all-absorb- 
ing worldly passion. The picture was that of a 
beautiful young girl, scarcely more than a child, 
but in that picture the Minister saw the fairest 
woman that was to be, the one that his heart at once 
exalted above all womankind, and the future from 
that moment changed its position, — that is, in 
place of beginning at the portals of the grave it be- 


42 


DAVID TODD, 


gan the next hour, and in its adjacent relationship 
to him he saw with an entranced vision its possibili- 
ties for a new life of joy, happiness, scope for good, 
and more definite consequences than he had yet 
foreseen, to be fulfilled by his birth and existence. 

Coming as he did out of the gloom of his early 
life and the narrow path he had chosen at first, into 
the brightness which his present thoughts made, he 
felt the intensity of the change, and in the clearer 
light of his new being he looked, as ordinary world- 
lings seldom look, upon the fair face ever before 
him now, as the bright sun that was to shine for 
him through all his days. Day and night its influ- 
ence was upon him, his deep and quiet nature was 
pervaded and filled with thoughts of his fair ideal, 
his quiet life became a happy one, more complete 
than it had ever been before, and hopes born of 
earth, inspiriting and natural, which he had never 
known before, filled his heart as he thought of the 
young girl who was growing and ripening into wom- 
anhood. “Mine, mine,” he said in his heart, and 
his whole life was enraptured by the thought. 

As his heart had now opened to one gentle human 
passion, that passion made way for others, and now, 
with influences and interests that were common to 
all humanity, his heart began to beat with the whole 
world and to respond in sympathy to joys and sor- 
rows it had never known before. Where before he 
had read books, he now read hearts, and he became 
a better man and a better teacher of men. 

As memory brought the things of the past before 


MORE ABOUT THE MINISTER. 


43 


him he lived again under their influence. He loved 
as he had loved, his life was again a poem of gentle 
rhymes, set to a low, sweet tune; love, deep, pure, 
and unchanging was the theme which his heart, like 
a friend, confided to him in gentle whispers, in the 
quiet and retirement of his home ; and so the years 
passed. 

The Minister’s thoughts lingered through this 
period, but Memory, with her truthful record, car- 
ried his mind to succeeding days and events. He 
pictured again the interview with Squire Amphlett, 
who had been his devoted friend always, and he re- 
membered the words in which the Squire had given 
him his hearty consent to woo and wed his only 
daughter. Oh, the unspeakable joy of those few 
short days ! The brightness, the beauty of life was 
unclouded, and every thought was a hope, thrilling 
his heart with pleasure. But Memory closed her 
book of joys, and opened her volume of sorrows. 
She pointed to a page where the minister read of 
shattered hopes and despairing thoughts. Again 
and again he read the page, till every word of the 
scene, when first he told the story of his love to 
Grace Amphlett, was burned into his mind, and he 
groaned as he recalled the words; “I can never be 
to you more than a friend.” 

David Todd was a man deep, deliberate, and de- 
voted. His early life had been one of consecration 
to an unnatural purpose. It needed but one strong 
ruling passion of nature to assert itself in him, and 
the same intense consecration would follow. The 


44 


DAVID TODD. 


passion came, and his nature, rebounding from un- 
natural repression, trembled with blissful delirium 
at the change. His soul came forth from the dark- 
ness and damps of a buried mine into the clear light 
of day, and soaring upward drank the fresh air of 
the mountain. 

David Todd was by nature capable of a most in- 
tense passion of love, but in view of his early life 
and its loneliness, a peculiar devotion to purpose, a 
self-communing mind and a soul individuality deep 
and serious, his passion was intensified beyond or- 
dinary bounds. Although he felt the sting of pres- 
ent adversity as sensitive natures only can feel it, 
yet he was not the man to be pushed aside by a 
jostling throng of circumstances; no matter how 
rudely, how cruelly they jostled him, his passion 
and his purpose were superior to them. 

To a nature so intense and to a mind which 
dwelt so earnestly upon its own thoughts, circum- 
stances are subservient. Such a nature is capable 
of great extremes, such a man is emphatically good 
or bad, and even if the balance tremble for a time 
in uncertainty it will not remain so .long, but assert 
a definite weight. 

My critical friend, you may think that David 
Todd was a most peculiar lover. Well, he was in- 
deed. He had been actually in love for years with 
an ideal, only, with a mind creation, and not with a 
creature of flesh and blood. It is true his ideal had 
found an embodiment in Grace Amphlett, and in 
worshiping his ideal of love he turned at times cov- 


MORE ABOUT THE MINISTER. 


45 


ertly to its personification and bowed down to that 
in the person of Grace Amphlett. His love was of 
’^a nature possessing so little of the grosser elements 
of earthiness that he found equally as much in the 
abstract sentiment as in the embodiment. If his 
feelings were in any measure founded upon baser 
sense conditions his thoughts were not consciously 
influenced by those conditions, but were dependent 
upon the purer conditions of mentality. 

When David Todd^s heart capacities had been 
called into action by Grace Amphlett his mind had, 
so to speak, set up her image in a secret recess of 
his heart, and thither it went to adore and love, 
leaving the real Grace Amphlett somewhat out of 
active participation in the consequent results. 

Thus David Todd had fallen in love, and had 
never made his love in any sense as practical as the 
world’s standard of loving. He was apparently 
content to love the image in his heart, to tell his love 
to the intangible spirit of his ideal, and to be mute 
and dispassionate to the living personal reality. 
These were the conditions of his early love senti- 
ments, but still his love was a developing quality, 
and thus far it had progressed only through certain 
stages of growth. It was, however, now at that 
stage where the personal influence of a real wom- 
anly individuality was a necessity to add a further 
developing step to its growth. 

From the time when he had first acknowledged a 
love sentiment in his heart, down through the con- 
siderable period of his secret worship to the pres- 


46 


DAVID TODD. 


ent, he had found a blissful peace, a gentle rapture 
in self-communion upon the gentle theme, and his 
whole mind through constant undisturbed compan- 
ionship had learned to assume an idea of proprietor- 
ship which had grown to be as fixed as a natural 
condition. 

Like an indolent miser who dreams of buried 
treasure so he dreamed of that which was dear and 
precious to him, but still dreaming he procrastina- 
ted in measures for its possession. 

“She will one day be mine,” he would say in 
these self-interviews, and no thought came to him 
that another might covet that which he desired. 
He was so bound up in his own appropriation of a 
beloved object that he never paused to think of cir- 
cumstances wherein the object beloved might, not 
unnaturally, object to the reciprocality of loving 
intensely in return. 

David Todd was not a practical lover, he was a 
dreamer of love as he had been a dreamer of his 
life’s mission, and yet he had that within him 
which constitutes the essence of a loyal and heroic 
lover: a devoted adoration and an exalted faith in 
the influence of his own all-constant love. 

Now that he had avowed his love with a passion 
which years had accumulated, and now that his 
nature had received a shock of supreme disappoint- 
ment, he naturally enough went back to the self- 
communing love of the past, and looking again into 
his heart’s deepest recess he found there the same 
image, beautiful and sacred, and so fell at once to 


A TEXT. 


47 


worshiping it with renewed intensity. But now a 
new thought came to him which had not before 
found a place in his mind: “How shall I win 
her?” This question he dwelt upon, and at last 
circumstances of an unforeseen character afforded 
him the means of answering in a way that his sense 
of honor would have revolted at, had it not devel- 
oped gradually. 

As the minister, sitting alone, with his head upon 
his hand, thought over the past, the lines of his face 
grew hard, and a haggard expression settled there. 
He cowered in his chair, and with a deep sigh of 
anguish buried his face in his hands and cried: “I 
cannot take you out of my heart, I cannot change 
the purpose of years, — I cannot, I cannot give you 
up.” 


CHAPTER VI. 

A TEXT. 

E arly in the morning little Mysie McGill, com- 
ing down from her attic room to light the fire 
in the kitchen, and make sundry necessary prepara- 
tions for the routine of a new day, which had but 
dawned, chanced to look toward the Minister’s 
room, when she beheld his door open and that 
gentleman up and dressed, pacing the floor slowly, 
with his hands folded over his breast, his head bent 
thoughtfully, and with a very haggard expression 
upon his face. 

Mysie’s first thought was that toothache had laid 


48 


DAVID TODD. 


hold of the Minister in the night, and her impulse 
(being a sympathetic little soul) was to enquire: 
“Eh, sir, hae ye bin up wi’ tlie toothache a’ nicht?” 
but a second glance dispelled the toothache theory, 
and, young as Mysie was, she could read in the 
Minister’s face a look which told her his trouble was 
not a bodily but a mental one. He was not aware 
of her glance or she would not have read anything 
there, for David Todd’s face, to the world, was not 
one to give an index to any deep emotion whatever, 
being placid and serious under all circumstances 
and at all times. 

Mysie’s young and untrained mind attributed this 
look of trouble on the Minister’s face to a cause 
most natural in her primitive reason, and as she went 
down into the kitchen her thoughts exalted the 
Minister to the character of an august and heavenly 
saint, who wasted in solitude and grieved through 
weary night-watches, contemplating the sins of the 
world in general and his parish in particular. With 
much commiseration for him and reverential awe at 
a character so sublime in its loving solicitude and 
sacrifice, Mysie was gradually lifting herself into a 
higher sphere of spiritual existence (albeit sifting 
cinders in the body), when the voice of Mrs. 
McNeish ruthlessly stopped the spirit’s flight and 
gave Mysie, in the flesh, the salutation of the morn- 
ing. 

“Ye young besom, ye; ye canna sift cinders and 
glower up at heaven at ane an’ the same time. 
Mind yer work or I’ll skelp yer lugs.” 


A TEXT. 


49 


Such the opening words of the savage McNeish, 
with a scowl upon her face, as she began the life of 
a new day — a day opening in smiles from heaven, 
as the sun rose in a clear sky, a day opening in 
happy sounds as earth lifted its voice from grass 
and bush and tree, and warbled and hummed a 
cheery “good-morning” to the sun; but Mrs. 
McNeish was not poetical, — in brief, she was an 
orthodox barbarian. The thought of a new day, 
if it ever received her special consideration as a 
new day, was in connection with the first chapter 
of Genesis, and as to the sun, she had read that 
Joshua commanded that orb in the vicinity of the 
valley of Ajalon, and she had seen some allusion to 
it in the Revelation principally; beyond this: “The 
warld was the Lord’s and the fullness thereof, and 
she had nae time to meddle wi’ sic’ things.” 

The breakfast preparations being sufficiently 
advanced, Mrs. McNeish, in a very authoritative 
voice, without suspending her work, addressed her 
helper: 

“Gang up an’ wauken the Minister.” 

“He is awake and up, mem,” said Mysie. 

A sharp glance from Mrs. McNeish, but no inter- 
ruption of her work (her hands were in the dough), 
“Gang up an’ wauken the Minister.” 

“If ye please, Mem, the Minister is awake and 
up.” 

Total suspension of work by Mrs. McNeish ; atti- 
tude lofty; arms akimbo; expression as one who 
would say, “Well, this is serious, but I will try 


50 


DAVID TODD. 


again”; words, imperious and emphatic — ‘‘Gang 
up an’ wauken the Minister.” 

Mysie obeyed humbly and returned. 

‘‘Did ye wauken him?’' asked Mrs. McNeish. 

‘‘No, mem, he was awake. He was up and 
dressed when I came down this morning’ frae ma 
bed.” 

‘‘Then why in the name o’ reason didna ye tell 
me that, when I tauld ye too wauken him, and no 
haeto waste yer time rinnin’ up an’ down stairs like 
a wee dog. ’ ’ 

At this time Sandy McNeish entering with a pail 
of foaming milk (the master of the Manse kept a 
cow), Mrs. McNeish presented the compliments of 
the morning to him as he laid the pail down and 
took a cutty pipe from his pocket. 

‘‘I’ll hae nae smokin’ in this hoose before break- 
fast, sae ye may just pit yer tobacca back in yer 
pouch an’ tak the pipe frae between yer teeth. 
What wi’ yer pufiin’ aye at the pipe yer half doited 
noo, ye puir auld body. Here, tak’ yon pail an 
gang tae the well, an’ gin ye smoke on the road 
’twill be the warse for ye, ma bonny wee man.” 
With which remark, Mrs. McNeish bestowed a look 
of comical contempt upon her husband and pointed 
expressively to the door. 

Sandy, having learned to obey orders, promptly 
goes about his duty, while the breakfast is carried 
up to the Minister’s room, on a tray, by Mrs. 
McNeish. 

The Minister generally eats alone, his house- 


keeper superintending his table. It is seldom he 
has visitors, but when he has, Mrs. McNeish arrays 
herself in her best gown and cap and does the honor 
of waiting upon the repast with a becoming dignity 
and a suavity that is a triumph of artificial agree- 
ableness. 

“There was a guid mony oot at the prayer meetin’ 
last nicht, “ she ventures. 

“More than usual, you think?'’ the Minister 
asks ; as if deferring to her judgment in the matter. 

‘ ‘Weel, there were twa or three there wha seldom 
come.” 

“I think I noticed them,” the Minister speaking 
somewhat absently. 

“Yes, Bessie Dickie, wi’ a braw new gown, an’ 
her feyther, auld Hughie, I’m sure he has na been 
in a kirk for ten years before.” 

“It is to be hoped he was repaid for coming, 
then,” the Minister replies, with his hand raised, 
holding a bite ready for his mouth, and looking 
toward the ceiling. 

“Faith, I dinna think he got ony guid o’ yer 
words ava.” 

“Why?” 

“Because he slept through a’ the discourse.” 

“Did he indeed? Well, mayhap his daughter 
Bessie will give him a part of the discourse at second 
hand.” 

“I’m in doot aboot that.” 

“How so, did Bessie sleep too?” 

“Not she, she was wide awake enough, an’ lost 


DAVID TODD. 


S2 

nae time in examinin’ an’ takin* stock o’ a’ the mil- 
linery there. I kept ma ee on her a’ the evening. 
Bessie’s just ane o’ tha bodies wha gang tae kirk 
tae see an’ no’ tae hear.” (A peculiarity of Cross- 
cairn people was, that they drew pictures of them- 
selves and wrote other people’s names under 
them.) 

The Minister, like the sailor’s wife in “Macbeth,” 
who had chestnuts in her lap, “munched and 
munched,” — Mrs. McNeish began anew: 

“ Auld Mr. Hopson was there. I hear frae Sandy 
that his son John will be hame frae Edinboro’ this 
week tae see the auld folk. He has but a few 
weeks mair tae stay at College, an’ when he gets the 
M. D. tae his name, he’s tae begin here wi’ auld 
Dr. Cameron. ” 

“Yes, so I hear,” the Minister not looking as 
though he heard. 

“Dae ye? I thoucht ye micht na hae heard.” 
This from Mrs. McNeish, to be construed in more 
than one sense, but the Minister was preoccupied. 

“I hear that young John has an ee tae Squire 
Amphlett’s dochter. ” 

The Minister suddenly seems to feel that Mrs. 
McNeish may tire of this one-sided conversation, 
and plucks up some little interest and animation, as 
he pushes his chair back from the table. 

“Do you mean that John Hopson has a particu- 
lar liking for Miss Grace Amphlett?” 

“Aye!” 

Mrs. McNeish, not having had her breakfast, has 


A TEXT, S3 

whipped up the breakfast tray and is on her way 
out of the room, as she utters this monosyllable. 

The Minister sits and ruminates alone. 

Little Mysie McGill, passing the door soon after, 
sees him sitting thoughtfully, and thinks the Minis- 
ter is resolving a text into a sermon. It is true he 
has a text in mind, and is busy with it as a basis of 
his thoughts, but it is not to be found from Genesis 
to the Revelation. It is this: “John Hopson has 
an ee to Squire Amphlett’s dochter.” 

During the morning David Todd usually spent 
his time in the seclusion of his study, and upon 
this day he did not venture forth until late in the 
afternoon. The Minister’s study was a retreat con- 
sidered sacred by Mrs. McNeish, and into which no 
other domestic was ever allowed to go. Indeed, so 
jealous was she of this room and its care, that often, 
in the absence of the Minister, she turned the key in 
the lock and put the key in her pocket. She never 
entered this room without a visible change in de- 
meanor, as though stepping into the inner office of 
some very dignified potentate. Once in, she moved 
about quietly, lifting books and papers as though 
handling the sacred vessels used in some mysterious 
rite. It was no unusual thing for her to read an oc- 
casional advance sheet of the Minister’s sermon left 
upon his table. This she accomplished with con- 
siderable labor, not being an adept in literary pur- 
suits, but she generally made out enough to satisfy 
herself, for putting the paper down, she invariably 
looked knowingly profound and said half aloud: 


54 


bAVID TODD, 


“Weel, that’s sound doctrine; me an’ the Minister 
are just o’ ae opinion.” 

From this domestic sanctuary she went forth to 
the church, when her duties were not too numerous, 
and said mentally, as the Minister preached, “Aye, 
that’s it, I kenned it a’ before” ; and took credit to 
herself for much that was said from the pulpit. 

Mrs. McNeish found not a little food here to feed 
her pride, and it was noticeable that after having 
swept or dusted this sanctuary or breathed its atmos- 
phere in any capacity, she made life particularly 
unpleasant for her husband and the “wee servant 
lassie” thereafter, in developing the most radical 
forms of a haughty aristocracy in the domain of the 
kitchen. 

In regard to his pastoral calls David Todd was 
obliged to be a man of considerable energy and tact, 
for the members of his congregation, being for the 
most part extremely sensitive to slights, were at all 
times ready to mutiny on the slightest provocation, 
real or imaginary. In consequence, he spent much 
of his time among his parishioners, and although 
not a social man in a true sense, yet managed to 
make himself welcome, satisfying pride, for his peo- 
ple were flattered in having a call from the Minister 
and were loud in his praises for an interval there- 
after. By the time he got around again he usually 
found himself in the nick of time to allay such sen- 
timents as contained in the following: “Aye, the 
Minister is just like ony ither proud, warldly body. 
He has nae time tae bother wi’ puir folk.” 


A TEXT, 


55 


Upon this afternoon the Minister made but one 
call ; this was at Andrew Hopson’s, in Garrick Road. 

Garrick Road ran at right angles from the Kirk 
Brae, one of those thoroughfares before alluded to, 
which, after making a pretentious start, had failed 
to carry out its promises. It was a quiet street, with 
wide lawns between the houses and a general air of 
genteel retirement. The houses were occupied by 
their owners, men of comfortable living in the town 
a retired merchant or two (such as having success- 
fully climbed to a solid footing in the world were 
able to stand complacently with their hands under 
their coat-tails, looking down the hill of life at the 
thousands climbing and struggling, hoping and faint- 
ing below), a brace of spinsters, very old, very lean, 
and very respectable, and Dr. Gameron, the prac- 
ticing physician of Grosscairn (a little old man, very 
wrinkled in face and active in body ; a very popu- 
lar man indeed, as every clod whom he had relieved 
of a colic, and every mortal to whom he had admin- 
istered a pill, proclaimed the result as something 
miraculous. In short. Dr. Gameron, having spent 
a lifetime in Grosscairn, and having doctored the 
fathers and mothers of the present generation, was 
perhaps, naturally enough, like many another, over- 
estimated. But faith works cures, sometimes. ) Be- 
sides these, lived the impecunious widow, Mrs. 
Brown, and a devout old lady, Mrs. Maxwell, of 
whom more anon, who boarded with the widow, and 
other families and individuals of equal standing and 
respectability, and among them the Hopsons, 


DAVID TODD, 


S6 


If ever a fine old man and wife lived, Andrew 
Hopson and his wife deserved that designation. 
They were, as well, a fine-looking old couple, and 
they were lovers. Fancy that! Lovers at over 
three-score. Think of a gallant old gentleman 
with the snows of many winters on his head, simple 
and gentle of heart, cheerful and earnest, leaning 
over his true love’s chair and smiling in her face as 
he smoothed her silvered hair, a sweet, kind face, 
not so fair as it was fifty years before, but quite as 
expressive, for it looked up to the face bent over it, 
with the same love grown stronger. Strange ! No, 
not so strange. Only the result of true love, and 
natural to natures of a superior kind. Such a state 
of affairs to ordinary flesh might appear odd. To 
thousands of mortals who marry in a flush of roman- 
tic excitement, and forget in a few years all the 
sentiment in the press of business and family cares, 
it might appear impossible. Some men never can 
see after a few years of married life any of the 
beauty, the charm, the sentiment to which they 
knelt like slaves before marriage. Now they are 
married, all the gallant little acts, all the suavity, 
all the gentle manliness by which they w^on at first, 
are gone. The lady finds that what she loved exists 
no longer, then comes indifference, and — well, they 
jog on together, as part of a great army, in a beaten 
track too familiar for description. Sentiment of the 
twain: Sentiment be hanged! 

Let us hear the conclusion of the whole matter. ” 
The lover of many polite attentions, who discon^ 


A TEXT. 


57 


tinues them after marriage, shows a deceitful or 
superficial character at least, in having only assumed 
a part to serve for an occasion. 

Andrew Hopson was not a man of this sort, but 
quite the reverse, consequently he found the same 
sentiment that had made him happy at twenty-five 
still making him happy in old age. The Hopsons 
were in comfortable circumstances, living under a 
moderate competency, gathered by many years of 
active industry, Andrew Hopson having been in 
business for years in Glasgow, and latterly in Cross- 
cairn, though for the past five years he had lived in 
retirement. 

Sitting in the parlor at Andrew Hopson’s, David 
Todd, thinking of the text given him that morning 
by his housekeeper, said in his usual deliberate way : 
“And is it true that John is about to return to 
Crosscairn?’’ 

“Ves,’’ answered Mrs. Hopson, stiting opposite 
with her hands folded in her lap, looking as though 
she might have sat thus for the picture of a typical 
old lady of a very model school. “Yes, but only 
for a short stay; he will go back in a few days to 
finish the little that is left of the course.’’ 

“He will settle in Crosscairn among us then,’’ 
the Minister said, as though asking a question 
already answered in his own mind. 

“Yes,’’ replied Mr. Hopson; “his purpose is to 
graduate and begin practice under the direction of 
our estimable neighbor, Dr. Cameron. The doctor 
is growing old, and an arrangement has been made 


58 


DAVID TODD. 


that will be as a partnership. This will be an ex- 
cellent opening for John ; as the direction of so able 
a man as Dr. Cameron, and the practice from his 
office, will qualify the lad for the somewhat ex- 
tensive business that may become his in the course 
of time when the old doctor retires from active 
duty.*' 

“Without doubt a fair opening, ’ ’ said the Minister, 
“and it is fortunate for you that John is not as 
many newly graduated men are, prone to expect 
great results at first, that is, a wide field with dis- 
tinction and money awaiting him at once. Indeed, 
I have known young men, some of my own class- 
mates, I may say, who, weighing their self-estimated 
abilities against such a field as Crosscairn, would 
have rejected the opportunity, as being but a meager 
one. Of course, it is true that Crosscairn may be 
limited in its sphere of advancement to a young 
person of ambition, but on the other hand it is suffi- 
ciently wide to one of more moderate ideas.’* 

“We have talked the matter over, Mr. Todd, 
both my wife and I, and have cautioned John 
against this very natural conceit of young men in 
his position. We know his impetuous disposition, 
and his eagerness to advance might lead him into 
error. So we have not neglected to counsel him.’’ 

“You have anticipated what I desired to say 
about the matter of advice or counsel ; you have 
very sensibly taken the necessary step in reminding 
him of that natural and often fatal, — what shall I 
call it — Self-importance? No: Sufficiency? No; 


A TEXT. 


59 


That sanguine element which would lead a young 
man to pass the modest certainty of to-day and reach 
out for the dazzling uncertainty of to-morrow. Oh, 
my good friends, how well can I imagine the 
course of a young man’s thoughts! Let me draw 
a true picture of such a youth. He stands among 
his college friends, they converse of their plans and 
prospects, bright ones all; the youth follows them 
in their flight, and returns from the dazzling pros- 
pect of his companions, to his own. He sees in — 
let us say, for example — Crosscairn’s moderate field, 
a very plodding and quiet existence, with little to 
dazzle or allure, and longs for a better opening for 
a life-work. His ambition is not satisfied, it sees 
no high mark at which to aim, it looks away from — 
shall I say Crosscairn, out upon the world’s vast 
arena, and turns back dissatisfied; such naturally 
his thoughts, but in this case your timely advice and 
counsel, and your early and practical arrangements 
with Dr. Cameron have, without doubt, decided 
John in the more modest but surer course; and, 
after all is said, there is many a poorer field than 
Crosscairn; so I wish John every success.” 

So the Minister converses. As his views find ut- 
terance, the two old people listening are alternately 
pleased and perplexed, and as the good Minister 
takes his departure, carrying many an earnest invita- 
tion to come again at an early date, a hiaze seems 
to surround him, and finally swallow him entirely, 
as he goes out of sight down the Carrick Road in 
the dusk of the late afternoon. 


6o 


DAVID TODD. 


Despite the uncertain seeming of David Todd 
outwardly, there was a definite character in his 
movements, and his thoughts were clearly defined 
within his inner self. As he walked away from the 
old couple his mind was troubled with a dispute 
which it held with his conscience. “I have done no 
ill,” said that individuality of mind. ‘‘You have 
not done right,” said his conscience as a personality 
within him. So Mind and Conscience argued the 
point, and as will ever be the case when these two 
dispute, unrest and unhappiness was the result. 
“You have adroitly tried to deceive these people,” 
said Conscience. ‘ ‘You have pretended to give dis- 
interested advice as to John Hopson’s prospects, 
and to place yourself in the character of a friend to 
the young man. You have with a skilled deceit 
spoken with two tongues; clothed falsehood and 
insincerity in the garb of truth and sincerity, and 
left behind you an influence which, while appearing 
to be of service to these people, is a deliberate and 
selfish influence fo: the advantage of self.” Mind 
writhed under the accusation, and while not answer- 
ing each particular, answered in part: ‘T am not an 
enemy to John Hopson.” Conscience said: “You 
are not a true friend.” Mind said; ‘‘Why can 
John Hopson not seek a better fortune elsewhere 
than in Crosscairn?” Conscience asked perti- 
nently: “Do you wish John Hopson to seek occu- 
pation and fortune elsewhere out of a simple desire 
for his good, or for your own?” Mind gave no di- 
rect answer, but advanced an admittance that suc}\ 


A TEXT, 


6i 


an event might be beneficial to both. *'Then/* 
said Conscience, '‘you admit that you are person- 
ally interested in the matter.” Mind reluctantly 
conceded the point, and Conscience took the argu- 
ment on the basis of questions unanswered and con- 
cessions, and in a strong and eloquent manner so 
presented the case to Mind, that before the minis- 
ter reached home he had said to his heart : 

“In the sincerity of your love for your idol, in the 
strength and depth of your desire to possess her all 
to yourself, in the thoughts and influence which this 
love has awakened in you, you have been purified 
and made better. Though you have been stricken 
and broken in the decree that has taken her away 
from you, is there not enough of the purities of 
thought and the better influences still left in you, 
through this love, to make you able to withstand a 
selfish and wrong impulse, and to despise any act 
that is unworthy, even though by that act you might 
surely though unfairly win your idol back?” To 
which his heart passionately replied: “I love her 
above all else. Truth and right and justice seem 
as naught in the balance against the weight of love 
I bear her. I cannot change the purpose of years, 
I cannot, oh, I cannot give her up.” 


62 


DAVID TODD, 


CHAPTER VIL 

CHURCH AND CONGREGATION. 

I T is Sabbath morning in Crosscairn, and the bell 
from the square tower of David Todd’s church 
rings out its invitation to Crosscairn’s motley com- 
pany of sinners. They come in groups from every 
quarter, turning into the Kirk Brae and thronging 
up that thoroughfare, while Sandy McNeish in the 
vestibule of the church clings to the bell-rope and 
exerts an influence he scarcely knows in augmenting 
the Kirk Brae throng and accelerating the tardy 
steps of sinners from the country, who hurry along 
rural lanes and over quiet fields. 

Ding, dong! ding, dong! Sandy is still at the 
bell-rope. The worldlings, swelled in numbers, 
pass the Manse and throng the churchyard, where 
they linger in groups and knots, exchanging saluta- 
tion. 

Ding, dong! ding, dong! clamors the bell, and if 
it speaks with the spirit of the man at the end of the 
rope it says : ‘ ‘ Hurry along there ; get under cover, 
ye sinners, and dinna stand gossiping oot there.” 
Through the wide door they pass in a hushed and 
reverential way, and go through the various aisles 
to their respective pews, where they take their seats, 
humbly and devoutly. There is something extrava- 
gantly solemn in the air that pervades the Cross- 
cairn congregation seated within the church. Still- 
ness and intense decorum are the characteristics of 
the lugubrious assembly. 


CHURCH AND CONGREGA TION. 


63 


Ding, dong! Ding, dong! The bell in the 
tower, answering to Sandy’s hand, clangs and 
crashes overhead in a noisy tempest of sound which 
melts in gradual tones to a clear and ringing voice, 
dying at last amid a series of jerky rumblings and 
vibrations up among the rafters ; there it goes out 
of existence finally, with a rasping groan and a sigh 
of relief, as the rope chafes the revolving wheel. 
The Crosscairn people, listening underneath, hear in 
the first loud clang of the bell a suggestion of the last 
trump and the final judgment, it may be ; for they 
start, whenever it comes, like guilty persons, and in 
the rumbling vibration of sound, and the wheezing 
sigh of the chafing rope, are reminded of the death- 
rattle of some non-communicant sinner. 

Ding, dong! Ding, dong! The bell ushers in 
Bessie Dickie, gay with ribbons and grave of feat- 
ure, suggestive of a pretty and coquettish saint on 
the road to heaven. Ding, dong! Ding, dong! 
Sinners of no particular distinction, ordinary and 
commonplace, take their seats, and with them enter 
Miss Edith Amphlett and Grace ; the former stately, 
the latter beautiful, these being deferred to in their 
passage as sinners of a more genteel and superior 
grade — the Ai, double X, best quality. 

Ding, dong! Ding, dong! Sinners from outly- 
ing districts, sinners who decided to come at the 
eleventh hour ; sinners just passing and happening 
in. A general and nondescript invoice, shaky stock, 
damaged goods, job lot. Ding, dong! Ding, dong ! 
Nobody this time, unless little Mysie McGill be 


64 


DAVID TODD, 


somebody. Ding, dong! Ding, dong! Ding, 
dong! The bell is voluble and emphatic, even 
vicious, and Sandy’s spirit running up the rope and 
speaking with a brazen throat, thunders forth: 
“There, drat ye, ye core o’ sinners. I’ve got ye a’ 
in at last, I hope. Let the Minister tak’ ye noo 
and save ye, if he can.’’ 

As the last tones of the bell die away, a door at 
the right of the pulpit opens, and David Todd ap- 
pearing, clad in black with a white neckcloth, 
mounts the steps of the pulpit slowly and takes his 
seat. The clock opposite the pulpit ticks loudly, 
and the sinners present, who are not contemplating 
their neighbors or eternity, divert themselves by 
counting the strokes or fitting words to the rhythm 
of the minutes. 

The Crosscairn people do not believe in instru- 
mental music in church worship. At a neighboring 
parish, a bass viol being introduced by a bold re- 
former, an old elder of forty years’ standing arose 
before the congregation and denounced the innova- 
tion after this manner: “Awa’ wi’ the fiddle! ye 
canna worship God scraping catgut.’’ 

The Crosscairn people are led by a precentor, and 
they sing the psalms of David to a limited number 
of tunes. Although the aforementioned David was 
a minstrel in his way, praising with timbrel, sack- 
but, harp, and horn, the people of Crosscairn take 
exception to anything beyond a precentor with a 
suggestion of the bagpipes in his nasal voice. The 
Old Hundred being a standard one at Crosscairn, 


CHURCH AND CONGREGA TION. 65 

the precentor sings it this morning, beginning each 
line with a nasal N. 

** N-n All people that on earth do dwell 
N~n Sing to the Lord with cheerful voice, 

N-n Him serve with mirth, his praise forthtell, 

N-n Come ye before him and rejoice." 

Thus the precentor, with the congregation drag- 
ging several notes behind, dolefully serve with 
mirth, and rejoice. 

Prayer — The congregation arise (no’ tae be like 
the Papists, wha get down on their knees, ye ken). 
The younger portion of the congregation fidget and 
change feet, losing the pith of the Minister’s offer- 
ing in speculating on the distance between the pres- 
ent word and the ultimate amen, which is to relieve 
them from the uncomfortable position. The older 
ones doggedly or resignedly stand firm, bound to 
see it through. Little children, dragged like pris- 
oners to the kirk, feel this ordeal of prayer deeply. 
Being of immature stature their little noses barely 
reach to the molding upon the back of the pews in 
front. This they cling to, sliding their lips over it 
as if performing upon a mammoth mouth-organ, and 
making it shine with a varnish of saliva ; or surfeited 
with a feast of pew-railing, stand on tiptoe, endeavor- 
ing to catch a glimpse of the Minister, who is effect- 
ually shut out by the broad back of some savage old 
deacon, whose buttons behind seem to stare back 
at restless Youth reprovingly; or by some devout 
old woman whose grotesquely figured shawl opens 
up a new field of diversion, as an intricate puzzle 


66 


DAVID TODD, 


demanding a solution. But the youthful mind 
wearies at length and young eyes look about for 
fresh diversion; finding none, and obeying tired 
nature’s promptings, Youth is constrained to sit. 
Ah ! let him not soothe himself with the delusive 
idea of rest here below. The paternal parent in 
the next seat behind has an eye upon his offspring; 
he obeys the injunction, “Watch and pray,” and 
will admit of no deviation from the regulation ordi- 
nance of the church laid down by the General 
Assembly. He therefore applies his knuckles to 
Youth’s head or manipulates his ear with finger and 
thumb, grapples with his coat-collar, aggravates his 
spine, or pokes him up in some of the infinite va- 
riety of ways the occasion suggests. 

“Suffer little children,” so saith the Scripture, it 
matters not the context, and so the gospel is ful- 
filfied. They do suffer. Meanwhile the Minister 
prays. — Mecca of many hopes; Amen! 

The mortified flesh is seated. Precentor to the 
front again, Psalms of David, — long measure. 
(Everything in the Crosscairn church is dealt out 
very largely according to the rules of long and dry 
measure). The precentor whines through his nose, 
as a sort of challenge, the opening tones. The con- 
gregation accept the challenge and get under way 
to the words : 

“ Behold how go-od a thing it is 
And how becoming well, 

Together such as brethren a-are 
In uni-ty to dwell, 


CHURCH AND CONGREGA TION. 


67 


In u-ni-ty to dwe-e-e-ell, 

In u-ni-ty to dwell, 

Together such as brethren a-are 
In u-ni-ty to dwell.” 

The precentor has whined the last word, and the 
congregation is still dwellings but not in unity. 

David Todd announces his text: “Be kindly af- 
fectioned one to another in brotherly love, in honor 
preferring one another.” An excellent text for the 
Crosscairn people, followed up by an excellent ser- 
mon, pointing out many traits of human nature, and 
exhorting the precept of Paul in a fervent spirit. 

David Todd ends his discourse; the precentor 
essays another song with bagpipe accompaniment ; 
the benediction is pronounced, and the spiritually 
refreshed sinners stand in groups at the door or 
wend their way homeward. 

“How did ye like the Minister this mornin'?” 
says one. 

“I didna like him ava.’' 

“But it was a soond discourse.” 

“Ay, it was a' soond thegether.“ 

Another group: “That was a fine sermon.” 

“Dae ye think sae? Weel, ye’re easily pleased.” 

Another group: “Hoo did ye like that sermon?” 

“The text was a guid ane, but the handling o’ it 
was bad. I cud ha’e din better mysel.” 

Another group : “Did ye see Bessie Dickie’s new 
bonnet?” 

“Aye, she looks like a fule in it; the brazen 
cuttie! I neer could abide the Dickie tribe, frae 


68 


DAVID TODD. 


that vain hizzie, Bessie, tae her warldly auld sinner 
o’ a feyther.” 

Random remarks of various groups: 

“The Minister’s just a’ gab and no sense.” 

“John Blair o’ Waukmill was in the kirk. I 
hope the auld blaggard got some guid o’ the ser- 
mon.’’ 

“The precentor has an unco* red neb. The 
whisky o’ the Black Bull gi’es a fine color tae a tip- 
pler’s nose.” 

“Was Jock Tamson at the kirk, ken ye?” 

“Deed no, not he; the auld thief stayed at hame 
tae count his ill-gotten gains.” 

Thus the Crosscairn sinners wending their way 
homeward, notwithstanding the text: “Be ye kind- 
ly affectioned one to another, in brotherly love, in 
honor preferring one another.” 


CHAPTER VIII. 

A LOVE AFFAIR. 

I N course of time, John Hopson, returning to 
Crosscairn, did what hearsay predicted : he took 
up his quarters with Dr. Cameron, as assistant 
practitioner. 

Before John Hopson entered school for a pro- 
tracted course of study in medicine, he had been a 
well-known and much-liked member of the Cross- 
cairn community. Being a handsome and amiable 
youth with a dash of spirit about him, he had been 


J LOF£ AFFAIJ^. 


($9 


a favorite there, and now, on his return, he was re- 
ceived with welcome, though his prescriptions were 
received somewhat coldly a proceeding indicative 
of some wisdom on the part of the Crosscairn people. 

In the time before John Hopson left Crosscairn, 
while yet a boy, he had known Grace Amphlett and 
thought her the fairest girl in all the country-side. 
Many were the meetings he and Grace had enjoyed, 
for Grace had looked upon him with favor. These 
meetings were frequent, but in no sense serious, 
being devoted principally to merriment and youth- 
ful nonsense, yet Grace could not but especially 
fancy this handsome companion, so full of life and 
gayety and possessed of a natural disposition which 
was, in its constant affability and generous impulses, 
so easily to be liked. John, on the other hand, 
could not but note the beauty of Grace above her 
Crosscairn sisters, and the charm of her character 
m its brightness and intelligence, its sincerity and 
modesty ; still no thought of love, defined as such in 
a romantic sense, occupied the mind of either, for 
they were simply a friendly and congenial pair of 
children, with only an inkling of intensity in their 
fondness for each other’s company growing natu- 
rally out of the difference of sex. As time went on 
and their close companionship was at length broken 
by John’s absence, the old familiarity gave place to 
a more reserved acquaintanceship, though no vaca- 
tion came that did not bring the two together. 
Time, still passing, drew a broader line of separa- 
tion between them; though looking into the heart 


70 


DAVID TODD, 


of each, it is doubtful whether the line was as 
sharply defined as outwardly it appeared. When- 
ever John returned to Crosscairn he was morally 
certain that Grace was more beautiful and better 
than when he had last seen her, and as he became 
aware of these successive stages of development, he 
became correspondingly serious and consequently 
more dignified in her presence. Another result 
was, that he became more thoughtful while at 
school, as though a weight were on his mind, which 
weight seemed to grow lighter regularly as the period 
of another home visitation drew near. This scale 
of buoyancy and depression, this gravity and dig- 
nity, was apparent also in the demeanor of Grace, 
though a closer observation was required to note it; 
so with this state of affairs as regarding the outward 
lives of John Hopson and Grace Amphlett, the 
young practitioner settled in Crosscairn and began 
his life occupation. 

Long before this period, John Hopson, in the 
midst of a study of bones, muscles, and tissues^ 
combined with the functionary principles thereto 
related, had, so to speak, found time to analyze his 
own heart and discover that it was capable of lov- 
ing; thereafter it required no protracted study to 
know that Grace Amphlett was the object loved, and 
with this knowledge he came to Crosscairn. 

The gossips of Crosscairn, though quick at dis- 
cerning great facts in stray occurrences, had not 
noted anything as yet to warrant more than the re- 
mark which Mrs. McNeish had made to the Minis- 


A LOVE AFFAIR. 


n 


ter: that “John Hopson had an ee tae Squire 
Amphlett’s dochter. “ This had been noted some 
time previous to John’s permanent location in the 
village ; but it was yet a piece of news not much 
dwelt upon; now, however, that John Hopson was 
resident in Crosscairn, there was little doubt of his 
actions being made matter of common speculation. 
Indeed, already he had been accredited with the 
performance of one remarkable cure, which was en- 
tirely fictitious, and had also been arraigned as the 
poisoner of two patients, an arraignment, consider- 
ing his inexperience, not altogether devoid of 
truthful grounds. 

John Hopson had made a visit to the Squire’s 
within a week after his arrival ; but it was a very 
dull affair to outward appearances. He had left 
Garrick Road with considerable elasticity of step, 
but before he was fairly under the shadow of Dal- 
melington’s gables he might have been mistaken for 
a grave old professor, so staid and deliberate became 
his manner. When he took Grace’s hand at meet- 
ing there was something about the action suggestive 
of a doctor feeling the pulse of a patient, and when 
he spoke, words of commonplace import, he uttered 
them after the manner of an eminent or pompous 
physician dictating a prescription, in a momentous 
case of life or death. Grace, while not so grave and 
serious, was yet distant and reserved, and Aunt Edith 
was put to her wit’s end to make the interview en- 
durable (so she afterward said), though if she had 
not been present, the young people might, to tell 


72 


DAVID TODD. 


the truth, have gotten along better, for they were 
both at that point of seriousness and formality when 
reactions are most apt to occur. 

As the days went by, John Hopson growing 
steadily more thoughtful, and Grace, on her part, 
inclined to think more seriously of life in general, 
gave indications of one common undercurrent of 
feeling which could have no other interpretation 
than they were in love intensely and mutually. 

“Love laughs at bolts and bars,” and love is equal 
to many emergencies besides. When two hearts 
mutually agree upon a purpose, and two active 
minds, filled with the idea which love has placed 
there (though there be no preconcerted union or 
compact), determine upon the realization of that 
purpose, opportunity waits upon them and chance 
is premeditated and certain. 

John Hopson, thinking seriously of his feelings 
toward Grace Amphlett, determined to prosecute 
his wooing. Not as a hasty or unconsidered resolve 
to win Grace for a wife, but as the culmination of 
thoughts which had occupied his mind for a long 
period, and although in this purpose he had misgiv- 
ings, — what lover has not? — yet he felt intuitively 
that his chances for success were considerable. His 
nature was such, that further procrastination and 
vague uncertainty in this matter so near his heart 
were unendurable. There are some natures which 
can find in a partial certainty a feeling of delicious 
bliss, while the thoughts are held in suspense be- 
tween positive happiness and misery; to such, a 


A LOVE AFFAIR. 


73 


dallying course affords a continual relish, and in it 
they are happy in hope, aside from realized happi- 
ness. 

John Hopson was not of this disposition. Sus- 
pense to him was a heavy load, and hope deferred 
made his life miserable. He was earnest; sincere, 
and practical, not at all a lover of the conventional 
novel^ who, through page after page of small talk 
and insinuations of idolatry, plays upon the brink 
of happiness and despair, advances and retreats, has 
the lady of his choice in his grasp and then loosens 
his hold, to begin anew in another chapter, the 
same routine of infirm purpose, so continuing 
through adroit trifling and much wordiness, and 
triumphantly marrying the lady in the last chapter 
but one (the last chapter being devoted by the au- 
thor to packing up, labeling, and putting away 
the entire dramatis personce). John was not of 
these. 

The man who loved Grace Amphlett was an ordi- 
nary mortal, handsome it is true, for manly beauty 
is not always, as some books evidence, an accom- 
paniment of vanity and weakness ; he was intelli- 
gent and earnest, a resident of the obscure little 
village of Crosscairn only, a man with a plain name, 
and living in an ordinary way as thousands of every- 
day mortals live. He was simply John Hopson, 
associate practitioner at Crosscairn, and not Sir 
Evelyn DeCourtenberg DeValkenberg, the much- 
traveled and fascinating roue^ nor yet Eustace 
Trevellyan of Mordaunt Grange, a milksop of a 


74 


DAVID TODD, 


noble pedigree, and being unlike these he wooed 
after a more practical fashion. 

John Hopson, though eminently practical, was 
romantic. He was a passionate lover, and he loved 
so passionately that this same passion made him 
practical. His heart’s earnest desire had put into 
his life such an entrancing prospect of happiness 
that he longed to realize it, and so he determined 
to deliberately avow his love at an early day and 
plead his suit. 

An opportunity came at length. The Squire had 
been away at Edinburgh for a longer time than 
usual, — indeed, he had not returned since the even- 
ing he had been so hastily summoned there, pre- 
vious to Mr. Todd’s proposal. Miss Edith had 
gone off for the afternoon and evening to visit a 
lady friend at an adjacent estate; John Hopson sat 
talking to Grace in the Dalmelington library. The 
two were busy discussing, in a somewhat reserved 
and profound manner, the merits of certain passages 
in a late publication. To speak correctly, they 
were not discussing at all, but rather uniting in one 
common judgment and interchanging identical 
thoughts. John was of the opinion that the work 
in question was thus and so. Grace was of the 
same mind, and she expressed herself in such a man- 
ner that John received back his own idea, as an en- 
tirely new, brilliant, and original one. Grace ven- 
tured a new criticism. John handed back the idea 
contained in her words, in a different form of speech, 
and Grace was particularly struck with the criticism, 


A LOVE AFEAIK. 


75 


as though it contained a view of the subject which 
had never occurred to her, yet was in keeping per- 
fectly with her thoughts. 

Proceeding in this mnaner, each finding an echo to 
every thought and sentiment in the mind of the 
other, the reserve of manner in each gradually wore 
away and before these two were aware, they had, so 
to speak, annihilated the years of separation and 
were again approaching that period of their past 
lives when they were children and boon companions. 
All the old spirit and freedom of that time came 
back to John, and Grace chatted and laughed as 
she did in her girlhood. 

Now it was that John, having his tongue loosened, 
and his heart brave in its natural pulsations, looked 
at the beautiful girl before him and was inspired 
with the mature love of a man and the ardor and 
freedom of youth, to advance upon the subject 
which he had dwelt upon for months. Now it was 
that Grace saw the handsome, earnest boy John had 
been in the days past, and with a deeper and more 
mature pleasure listened to his words and was made 
more happy than ever before in his companionship. 

“Miss Amphlett,” said John, '‘you are not 
greatly changed now you are a woman. I see in 
you the same girl 1 was so much enamoured of in 
boyhood. “ 

“Nor are you changed, Mr. Hopson; you are 
very much as you were, though at first I thought 
you had grown grave and distant.” 

“Perhaps I might account for that gravity and 


76 


DAVID TODD, 


distant manner in a thought that I might find you 
changed on my return.” 

“Then you sometimes gave me a thought.” 

“Often, very often.” 

‘ ‘I should have thought your new acquaintances, 
your changed surroundings, and your studies would 
have occupied your mind entirely, ^nd given you 
little time for trivial remembrances.” 

“They were not trivial remembrances. Miss 
Amphlett. During my absence, may I ask if you 
ever gave your thoughts to the old times?” 

“Often.” 

“Were they trivial?” 

“No.” 

“To me they were more serious than all my other 
thoughts combined, and each time I returned to 
Edinburgh after my visits home, the remembrances 
grew more deeply into my life as parts of my daily 
thoughts. ” 

“Surely you must have had pleasures and society 
to make you forget your home associations.” 

“Yes, I had society and books and study, but 
nothing could make me happy when away from 
Crosscairn. Its memories were with me always, and 
I longed to return. There was one object there 
around whom all my memories were centered, one 
whose picture I kept in my heart and worshiped 
continually, one whom I loved above all others, — a 
beautiful girl, whom I had loved from childhood. 
Can you not guess her name? It was you, Grace.” 
^s he spoke eloquently in the confession of his 


M0/^£ ABOUT THE LOVE AFFAIR, 77 


neart, he took her hand in his and, looking into her 
face, poured out the secret of years. '‘I love you, 
Grace, I have always loved you. Not a day has 
passed since I left Crosscairn that my heart has not 
been here at your feet. My thoughts have clung to 
you, and in you I have centered every hope and as- 
piration of my life. Say I am not too late in letting 
my heart name its choice to your ear, for the dream 
of my life can only be realized in you.” 

As he spoke, he looked into her eyes turned upon 
him lovingly, and forgot all the seriousness and 
doubts of the past in the joys of realized hope. 


CHAPTER IX. 

MORE ABOUT THE LOVE AFFAIR. 

P RETTY Bessie Dickie, looking as fresh as the 
morning, stood looking out of the northern 
window of the family sitting-room at Dalmelington. 
The day was bright and the sunlight was glancing 
sharply upon the waters of the distant sea, which 
could be seen through the openings in the trees. 
Nearer, it shone over cultivated fields of undulating 
land, with a grove here and there, and at intervals 
a neat little farmhouse resting upon the side of a 
hill. Somewhat north and eastward from the pros- 
pect and at the distance of a mile, the roofs of 
Crosscairn village looked over the trees and an oc- 
casional little tower, gable or quaint old-fashioned 
dormer window, peeped through the openings. The 
line of that important thoroughfare, the Kirk Brae, 


78 


DAVID TODD. 


could be discerned by its two terminal points, the 
Quays, where certain tall masts and fluttering pen- 
nants were outlined against the bright western sky, 
and the parish church, its square tower dimly stand- 
ing out against the hazy background of the eastern 
hills. 

Bessie, however, standing by the window, con- 
fines her glance to objects nearer home. One of 
these objects is no other than Thomas, the gardener, 
who stands a short distance away, by the side of the 
main road, conversing with a robust young farmer, 
tall and good-looking, whom Bessie recognizes as one 
upon whom she has had an interested eye for some 
time back. 

Bessie is critical. As she looks from the window, 
she notices that Thomas is short and stocky ; that 
his companion is tall and well-formed. She watches 
the one admiringly, and as they part company, the 
young farmer going out of sight down the road, and 
Thomas to his work, she mentally arranges a meet- 
ing with Thomas before the close of the day, in 
which to find out more of this young swain, and 
whether she has been in any way the subject of his 
remarks; meanwhile she dusts the pictures and 
smirks before the glass, that article of furniture re- 
quiring attention, singing as she busies herself : 

“ Oh it’s hard tae tak’ shelter 
Ahin a laigh dyke, 

It’s hard tae be wi’ them ye dinna weel like, 

It’s hard tae be frae them, ye fain wad be wi’, 

But a wee stumpin’ body ’ll never get me. ” 


MORE ABOUT THE LOVE AEEA/R. 79 

Grace, at this moment entering, smiles at the 
closing words of the singer, and hums to herself as 
she goes to the window and looks out. What her 
thoughts are, and the connection they have with 
Bessie’s words, Bessie does not definitely know, 
though they seem significant, as Grace says: 
“Thomas, the gardener, has been very attentive to 
you, Bessie, has he not?” 

Grace, at the window, has noted him as the only 
active object in the landscape, that worthy being in 
full view a few rods away, busy trimming the lawn. 

Bessie blushes slightly, and answers: “Weel, 
Thomas has been a wee bit that way, I may say, but 
I dinna tak’ muckle notice o’ him.” 

'T’m surprised at that; for, Bessie, I’ve seen you 
with him often of late, and I thought at last you 
had found the right man.” 

“Weel, Miss Grace, it’s true I ha’e been wi’ 
Thomas aff an’ on, but as for his being the richt 
man, that is oot o’ the question a’thegether. The 
richt man for me, mem, maun be several guid inches 
taller than Thomas, an’ maunna be a’ feet an’ 
shouthers.” 

Grace smiles at the critical Bessie, and says by 
way of justice to lumbering Thomas: “He’s a 
good, honest fellow, Bessie.” 

“Ay, he’s honest enouch, but I never could abide 
a body wi’ sic’ feet an’ shouthers; no, I canna 
abide a man o’ that character.” 

Bessie, with a twinkle in her eye, and a mischiev- 
ous smile, displays the unction such a speech gives 


Bo 


i)A viD' Todd. 


her, and seeing a similar look upon the face of her 
young mistress, slyly takes upon herself the charac- 
ter of a sympathizer and commiserates Thomas : 

‘Tt’sa shame for me taemak’ sport o’ the chiel,” 
she says. He’s no’ tae blame for his feet; gin he 
was, he’d ha’e muckle tae answer for, nor is the lad 
tae blame for his big roun’ shouthers; gin he had 
mair in his heid they’d be mair bent carryin’ o’ it, 
so he micht be waur than he is, puir man.” 

Thus Bessie, pouring forth the soothing balm of 
womanly sympathy, and making atonement for the 
words so cruelly spoken befo No doubt, had 
Thomas heard he would have bee., soothed and com- 
forted for all past cruelties, by these kindly drops 
of pity. 

“Were you ever in love, Bessie?” 

‘'Weel, I cannajust a’thegether say I hinna been, 
but deed no’ wi’ Thomas. I thoucht I was ance in 
love, an’ for a month I was just miserable wi’ the 
feelin’, but it wore aff at last, an’ ’deed, I faund 
that it’s a true sayin’, that love is blin’, for when I 
was oot o’ conceit wi’ the man, the scales drappit 
frae ma een an’ I saw that I had made a fule o’ 
mysel’ an’ was near marryin’ a saft lump, wi’ nae 
sense ava, forbye a skelly in ae ee, an’ hair o’ the 
color o’ a herrin'.” 

Grace was amused and in a mood to carry the 
conversation further, so she said: “You are too 
exacting, Bessie; you are too hard to please, I fear.” 

‘Weel, that may be, but it’s hard tae tak’ up wi‘ 
the maist o’ the lads. Deed I’ve had some experi- 


MORE ABOUT THE LOVE AFFAIR. 8i 

ence o’ them, an’ I ken their faults. There 7t/as a, 
chiel, though, that I thoucht a guid ane, but deil 
tak’ him, when I tried tae mak’ him jealous, an’ 
mair active in his attentions, by triflin’ wi’ him, he 
just up an’ did the ither thing an’ took me at ma 
word, an’ that was the end o’ that affair, for ye ken 
he was ane o’ the sensible kind, vera sincere an’ in 
earnest, an’ says he tae me: T’m no’ tae be treated 
like a wee bairn, Bessie, an’ I’m wise enough tae 
see that yer mair faund o’ flattery than sincerity 
(which was na true), sae. I’ll just leave ye tae trifle 
wi’ some ither body!’ That was the last o’ him, 
though I heard after that he marrit a lass doon at 
Airdmill, wha had a face like a platter a’ sprinkled 
wi’ bran.” 

A call for Bessie in another part of the house left 
Grace alone for a few moments, when she was joined 
by Aunt Edith. 

“Have you written to your father, Grace, about 
John’s proposal?” 

“No, Aunt Edith, I shall not write to father of 
the matter. I have thought it over, and think it 
best to say nothing to him at present.” 

“Remember, Grace, you owe your father a 
daughter’s duty, and he should be consulted upon 
this matter, which is a very serious and important 
one.” 

“Of course, Aunt Edith, I know all this, and I 
would not take any farther step without consulting 
father, but surely you cannot fail to see that if I tell 
him the whole truth there will be trouble, for there 


82 


DAVID TODD. 


can be no doubt that he has other plans for my fu- 
ture. Mr. Todd’s proposal, and what we discovered 
later, in regard to father’s interest in the Minister, 
assure me that, if I am to have my own way and 
marry John Hopson, the man whom I love, I must 
act with some policy in breaking the news to him. 
You know father as well as I, and will uphold me 
in this: that in his fixed way, he is not easily put 
aside, and if he thought for a moment that I had 
not given any wish of his sufficient consideration, 
he would at once be arrayed against me and I might 
expect nothing better than his positive refusal to any 
alliance other than that which he had proposed. 
Mr. Todd is his choice; it may be that he has not 
entertained very serious thoughts that way, but still 
he has undoubtedly favored him, and an open con- 
fession to him at this time would, I know, make this 
at once a serious matter with him, for he would then 
think that his word and wish had been set at naught. 
You know father’s way, kind and good when not 
antagonized, but oh, so set and willful when any 
taint of antagonism to his ideas enters his mind.” 

Aunt Edith could not but consider the argument 
of Grace as a forcible and strong one, in view of the 
Squire’s disposition, and confiding in Grace’s word 
that no further steps toward formal engagement 
would be taken, she concurred in the course laid 
out by Grace; to keep the matter quiet and not 
inform the Squire, at least till his return and the mat- 
ter of the Minister’s proposal was cleared up. 

During the Squire’s absence, and he had been 


THE SOCIAL ELEMENT. 


83 


away several weeks, both Grace and Aunt Edith 
had corresponded with him, but as he had chosen 
to remain silent touching the Minister’s proposal, 
the ladies, perhaps partaking of the Squire’s pecu- 
liar obstinacy, had refrained from any allusion to 
that affair, waiting patiently till his return, which 
they now expected daily, when they were fully pre- 
pared to meet him face to face and learn all in a 
personal encounter. 


CHAPTER X. 

THE SOCIAL ELEMENT. 

I N Crosscairn there was, as in the great world at 
large, a social element, which had its origin, to 
a great extent, in the centralizing influence of the 
church. The Minister’s people, although of one 
brotherhood and fellowship in that institution, were 
divided into separate and distinct social groupings. 
There was a decided sentiment of caste, which ran 
through the minds of the people, so that the Minis- 
ter’s flock were, so to speak, gathered into different 
social folds, though feeding upon one hill and under 
the guidance of one shepherd, but while there were 
diverse and separate cliques, there was one common 
sentiment which pervaded each, viz., that the set 
below it was more or less common or unworthy, 
while the one above it was proud and composed of 
upstarts. Perhaps it is here worthy of remark, 
though paradoxical, that each individual clique was 


84 


DAVID TODD, 


morally certain it had no superior, and yet was pos- 
sessed of an intuitive understanding that it had its 
own place definitely upon the social scale, below 
some other in Crosscairn or elsewhere. These 
separate groups, while remaining outwardly distinct, 
were subject to internal change, — that is, thefe 
were always some difficulties arising of a personal 
nature, which made it a common occurrence for an 
over-sensitive individual of one set to desert his past 
friends, and enlist with his former enemies. During 
the course of time, there had been so much of this 
change and transposition, that Crosscairn’s present 
social grouping was somewhat complicated as to in- 
dividuals. Each group was exclusive and enjoyed 
itself within itself, though not infrequently some 
other group formed the material from which the 
enjoyment was derived. 

The cement used in the social structure of Cross- 
cairn \vas strong tea, though of course jam, currant 
bread, and various cakes made up a species of con- 
crete not to be overlooked ; yet strong tea was the 
principal adhesive material that held society to- 
gether, and when a thrifty housewife made an extra 
brewing, society was affected thereby; indeed, the 
success or failure of a meeting of society depended, 
to a considerable extent, upon the strength of the 
beverage, and such sayings as the following were on 
record as proof of the assertion : 

“The party wasna just a’thegether as enjoyable 
as it micht ha’ been, for ye ken the guid wife gied 
us vera wake tea, it was just a dash o’ water.” 


THE SOCIAL ELEMENT, 


% 


‘‘I didna get muckle guid o’ the pairty on account 
o’ the character o’ the tea, it wasna drawn enough, — 
I mean, it wasna drawn oot o’ the canister.” 

One gruff individual had left on record the fol- 
lowing: “We were set doon tae a cup o’ water, but 
I never could abide water in my shoon much less in 
ma belly, sae I did nae mairthan pree (taste) it.” 

As a rule, housewives left little chance for criti- 
cism in this regard, but made the blackest and 
strongest drink, more like a noxious drug than an 
agreeable refreshment, and as the guests sipped it, 
they based their regards for the maker upon its 
strength. 

It was customary for a housewife of a certain ^et 
to grow into the belief that a tea-party was in order, 
and when this idea had sufficiently expanded and 
the necessary preparations had been completed, she 
met her friends, generally at the door of the church, 
and gave them invitation. Sometimes the tea-party 
had its origin in a personal misunderstanding the 
housewife had had with some former friend, and the 
party was a ready weapon of aggression, for the 
housewife could, with a genteel calmness, omit to 
invite the offending party, and so wreak her ven- 
geance in a snub which afforded her infinite relish. 
In such a case there was truth in the adage, ”It’s 
an ill wind that blows nobody good”; for the 
snubbed individual immediately returned the slight 
by inviting all the party except the principal, and 
so the round of pleasure and society was kept up, 
and the guests were feasted as the result of a feud 


86 


DOVID TODD. 


At the Crosscairn tea-party the women made it a 
practice to be present early in the afternoon, and 
the men came later, after the work of the day, hav- 
ing hastened home to array themselves becomingly. 
On their arrival the company sat down to tea, and 
a merry time they had. There were many sharp 
wits in Crosscairn, and the company whetted their 
steel upon one another, while partaking of a bounti- 
ful repast. The hostess, sitting at the head of the 
table in bland dignity, was attentive to her guests, 
and while she kept the thread of conversation in her 
mind and was ever ready to take an active part in it, 
she kept an eye upon the dishes and the progress of 
her guests in eating. The conversation at the table 
was desultory and broken, but it never flagged, — it 
ran after this fashion: 

“Ye’ll hae anither cup o’ tea, Mr. Brown, I see 
your cup’s oot.” 

“That I will, mem, for it’s just fine; yer a guid 
hand at the makin’ o’ tea.’’ 

“Och weel, there’s an airt (art) in that as in ither 
things, as I was sayin’ this mornin’; when — ’’ 

“Mrs. Tamson, a wee bit mair o’ this short- 
bread; it’s no’ as fine as I’d like, but ye’ll try an- 
ither bit, I think.’’ 

“’Deed, I never tasted better; a wee bit mair, 
thank ye.’’ 

“ It’s just as ye say, Mr. McFarlane, that body 
Sandy McNeish does na keep the kirk as clean as it 
oucht tae be keepit, — it tak’s a woman tae handle a 
broom, an’ it’s — ’’ 


THE SOCIAL ELEMENT. 


87 


“Will ye sugar and milk, Mr. Ross?“ 

“Tea, mem, tea an’ naething mair; ae thing at a 
time an’ nae mixtures, — which mak’s me think o 
what wee Jimmie Fergus said tae oor frien’, Mrs. 
Campbell, wha sells milk tae the neebors. — Ye ken, 
Mrs. Fergus was grumlin’ at the color o’ the milk 
an’ sayin’ she wad like mair milk and less water; 
weel, what does wee Jimmie dae the next time he 
gaed for the milk, but tak’ twa cans an’ says tae 
Mrs. Campbell: ‘Ane is for the milk, an’ the tither 
is for the water; mitaer will mix them tae her ain 
taste.’ ’’ 

“O Lord! that was a guid ane, the bairn — *’ 

“How’s yer plate, Mr. Black; ’deed yerno eatin’ 
ava (at all).’’ 

“Faith, mem, I’m doing ma best; no, mem, not 
anither morsel, ma barn will na hud anither 
sheaf.’’ 

After tea it was customary to retire to the best 
room. This room was only used for such occasions, 
though on Sabbath afternoons the family formally 
sat there and dragged out a miserable period of ex- 
istence, in dozing idiotically over dry Sunday read- 
ing, under the belief that they were spending the 
day properly and profitably. After the gayety and 
freedom of the tea-table this room brought depres- 
sion, and in the effort to be genteel, as becoming 
their formal surroundings, the company sat bolt up- 
right, poised in state, making as unnatural a group 
as any photograph. 

What time the tea began to act upon the nerves, 


88 


DAVID DODD. 


tongues became loose and glib, and the festivities 
began anew. Proceeding upon a method which 
educators extol, viz., from the known to the un- 
known, society began at random upon the weather, 
the crops followed naturally, then came the Min- 
ister and the people. 

The elements and the products of the soil being 
known, these were speedily disposed of, but the 
Minister was a subject which consumed more time, 
while the people, as a large subject, embodying at 
once the tangible realities of the known with the 
uncertainties of speculation, as the climax of the 
unknown, called forth so much investigation that 
the evening was passed before matters on that theme 
were disposed of satisfactorily. It is safe to say, 
however, that each individual present went home 
considerably enlightened as to numerous details of 
personal history. 

These conversational diversions were not always ‘ 
continuous. Innocent games were interspersed 
through the evening, such as forfeits and the pro- 
pounding of time-honored riddles, which the com- 
pany received and puzzled over in masterly pretext 
of never having heard before; then came such senti- 
mental songs sung so lugubriously, such humorous 
ditties sung so laughably, and varied with quaint 
and much relished spoken parts, as : 

Auld Gaffer and I lay doon tae sleep, 

Wi’ twa pint stoups at oor bed’s feet, 

An’ ay whan we waukened, we drank them dry, — 

Noq, what dae ye think o’ auld Gaffer an’ f.” 


THE SOCIAL ELEMENT. 89 

{Spoken) “ Faith ay, whan he waukened aince, I waukened 
twice an* took twa draps tae his ane — Syne we gaed 

{Sing) “ Toddlin* but, toddlin’ ben, 

It’s time enough noo tae gang toddlin’ hame.” 

After a period of song came the reel to the music 
of the fiddle (half of Crosscairn’s male population 
owned fiddles and played them with various grades 
of proficiency). It was a treat to see the oldest 
deacon, thickset and broad, the sire of a dozen chil- 
dren, make a courtly bow to the most angular and 
demure maiden of the party, who gingerly held her 
skirts and dropped a return curtsey, after an an- 
cient fashion It was a sight to see the red-faced 
and strapping wife of the blacksmith go galloping 
up and down before the company, hand in hand 
with the wizen, henpecked wreck who kept the green- 
grocery. With much merry laughter, the company 
rested after the dance and went back to personal 
matters of a lively nature. 

Side-splitting jokes at the expense of some un- 
fortunate absentee, stories, quaint and laughable, at 
the real or fancied plights of certain dignified per- 
sonages of the neighborhood, whispered comments, 
full of ridicule and sarcasm, in reference to some 
prominent characteristic of a member of the present 
company (the individual commented upon having, 
in all likelihood, been active in the same line of 
business with special reference to some peculiarity 
of the other), these had their place in the evening’s 
festivities, and then followed a change in the pro- 
gramme, perchance as follows ; 


90 


DAVID TODD. 


“Miss Jamison, I say, wull ye no’ gie us that 
sang ye sing sae fine? ‘Oor May had an ee tae a 
man,’ ’’ or, “Mr. Savage, ye’ll no refuse us ‘Roy’s 
wife o’ Aldivalloch.' ’’ 

Miss Jamison, sitting bolt upright in her chair, a 
maiden with a piping voice and a good opinion of 
it, sings: 

“ Oor May had an ee tae a man, 

Nae less than the newly placed preacher, 

An* we plotted a dainty bit plan, 

For trappin’ oor spiritual teacher : 

Oh, we were sly, sly, 

Sly and sleekit, 

But ne’er say a herrin’ is dry 
Until it be reestit and reekit.” 

Meantime, divers tongues are suggesting in whis- 
pers that “Miss Jamison ouchttae sing it wi’ feelin’, 
for ye ken she has been settin’ her cap for the Min- 
ister for the last ten years.’’ 

In due time Mr. Savage clears his throat, opens 
his mouth and essays “Roy’s Wife,” beating time 
with his foot and marking every syllable with his 
arm in motion, while the company join with him at 
certain repetitions, and “Roy’s Wife,’’ to a tune not 
unlike an Indian chant, occupies the company, but 
not altogether to the exclusion of certain remarks to 
the effect that Roy’s wife and Savage’s wife are not 
kindred spirits in the matter of personal charms. 

And now, in all likelihood, appears the goodwife 
with a tray and glasses. The “speerit’’ is passed 
around, and the company, nibbling “short breed” 


MRS. MAXWELL. 


91 


garnished with ' *carvy seed, ’ ' and sipping the Camp- 
bellton lethe, pledge one another; this pledging is 
interesting. “Here’s -tae ye/' is the sentiment of 
the pledger, after which he or she nods gravely to 
every person present, in succession. When each 
individual has returned the salutation with a nod in 
return, and each individual has pledged, in like 
manner, the others, the festivities in variety are con- 
tinued. And so the evening passes, ending it may 
be with the reel as a standard and unfailing diver- 
sion, then with much chatter and laughter (gossip 
of a personal nature still having its place) the com- 
pany disperses, and Crosscairn society goes home. 


CHAPTER XL 

MRS. MAXWELL. 

M rs. maxwell was a resident of Carrick 
Road, as before mentioned. 

Who was she? 

Very few of the Crosscairn people knew, but that 
mattered little to them, for, being of an imaginative 
turn, they found little difficulty, in the absence of 
definite knowledge, in giving her a character and a 
history based upon the merest threads of actual fact 
and circumstance. 

Mrs. Maxwell had been turned over and over; 
had been dissected and analyzed; yea, had been 
chewed, swallowed, and digested (all this figura- 
tively, for the Crosscairn people, though emphati- 


92 


DAVID TODD. 


cally a set of backbiters, were not altogether canni- 
bals) in the efforts of the parish to get at the very 
essence of her history, past and present. Figura- 
tively speaking, then, she had undergone the fore- 
going processes for the hundredth time, and was 
well known to them, as a thing of their own conjec- 
ture. Correct in some actual details, but fictitious 
in many others, this conglomeration of reality and 
speculation answered their purpose fully as well as 
detailed truth. Perhaps this uncertain character 
suited the Crosscairn people better than one more 
positive, for it could be changed at w-ili, 
to the varying moods of the parish, and was more 
highly Busceptihlc of ra’^doin addition and embel- 
lishment. 

Mrs. Maxwell was an elderly person. This v/as a 
fact, and the Crosscairn people were in unity upon 
it. Mrs. Maxwell was a member of Mr. Todd s 
church, and gave liberally toward its support. Cross- 
cairn had varying opinions upon this latter point. 
She was a very religious old lady. Crosscairn being 
very religious itself, in the midst of its faults could 
hardly dispute that, inasmuch as it never failed to 
go to church and seldom missed the old lady from 
her pewn Going to church was a prime saving or- 
dinance of Crosscairn’s denizens. Of course, infant 
baptism and similar ordinances were given due 
weight, but church-going was the one thing abso- 
lutely needful to a perfect salvation. His Satanic 
Majesty had a firm grip on a few in Crosscairn who 
Staid at home occasionally to say their prayers, but 


AIRS. MAXWELL, 


93 


they were few. The majority were regular atten- 
dants, and therefore of the elect. Aside from the 
details given, Crosscairn’s opinion of Mrs. Maxwell 
was not worth a consideration, as touching facts. 

Leaving other views aside, the following is briefly 
all that is necessary as to Mrs. Maxwell’s history 
and character: 

She was a widow, her husband having died many 
years before, leaving her a snug fortune and an only 
son — an infant — who died shortly after. The old 
lady had found her way to Crosscairn through a 
combination of circumstances, chiefly arising out of 
her own erratic and wayward whims. Not to enter 
into minute and tiresome details, it is enough to say 
that Mrs. Maxwell, resident in London, with her 
brother, a retired banker, and sometime domiciled 
at Edinburgh, with her sister, the wife of a worldly 
attorney-at-law, took it into her head to cut her re- 
lations. It came about in this manner: She had 
fallen out with the retired banker and betaken her- 
self to the home of the worldly barrister. In the 
course of a year or two, having words with the latter 
gentleman upon a religious question, she had left 
the shelter of his roof, bag and baggage, to renew 
her home with the opulent banker. Finding at 
length suflicient cause, in her own mind, to doubt 
the hospitality of the banker, she had swallowed the 
ancient grudge she bore the legal gentleman and 
blandly resumed her home at his fireside. Compli- 
cations of a very intricate opinional nature, how- 
ever, arising, she had, after a certain period, 


94 


DAVID TODD. 


planted herself in the bosom of the banker’s family 
again, and so she had continued wandering like a 
restless spirit upon the face of the earth, her pere- 
grinations between these two stations being limited 
only by the very small number of doors that opened 
to receive her, otherwise she might have traversed 
every district upon the face of the habitable globe. 
If she had had a brother resident at Kamschatka, 
she would have visited him. This game of shuttle- 
cock she had played for years, with so much regu- 
larity that it Avas generally safe, allowing a small 
margin of time, to locate her definitely at one or the 
other place or at some definite intermediate station. 
Finally, she took it into her perverse head to vary 
her maneuvers by going to Crosscairn to visit her old 
friend, Mrs. Brown, who had written her a letter of 
sympathy. Mrs. Brown was glad to have her for 
two prominent reasons, which may be briefly stated 
as follows: Mrs. Brown was impecunious, and 
Mrs. Maxwell had money enough to pay a generous 
board. She had been at Crosscairn for two years, 
and had found it so agreeable there, that at present 
she had no other thought, other than that of dying 
there peaceably. 

Mrs. Maxwell, in Crosscairn, was a big frog in a 
little puddle. There were so many base slaves in 
Crosscairn that she received there a consideration 
very much beyond her due — why? because she was 
reputed to be rich. Every ignorant clod was flat- 
tered if she addressed him, and knuckled his fore- 
head like a feudal vassal if she gave him recogni- 


MRS. MAXWELL. 


95 


tion; and still, with Crosscairn perversity, each 
fawning hind was more than ready to libel the old 
dame, and denounce her riches and her pride as 
things of no value whatever. 

When Mrs. Maxwell had been in Crosscairn a few 
months, and saw in it a probable home, she joined 
the church. This brought her somewhat into 
Crosscairn society ; that is, it afforded opportunity 
for every member of David Todd’s church to know 
her, but aside from an occasional word or nod, a 
fraternity of identical churchmembership, a famil- 
iarity afforded by a common seat at the communion 
table, and being saved by the same vicarious plan, 
there existed no closer bond between Mrs. Maxwell 
and the minister’s parishioners. Mrs. Maxwell, a 
good church-member, could contemplate a united 
family of souls in heaven, but she couldn’t abide 
such a unity on earth. 

Mrs. Maxwell was rather a good-looking old lady, 
with a style and manner which showed her to be a 
person of social quality. 

Prominently she was very religious, as before 
mentioned, the completed flower and ripened fruit 
of a very rank plant, that had for generations its 
root in a rich soil of doctrines and ordinances, 
bigotry and intolerance; briefly, she was a product 
of several very religious and narrow-minded genera- 
tions. Her great-grandfather’s great-grandfather 
had been a notable ecclesiastic, prone to urge upon 
the ruling sovereign, who was a great villain, the 
propriety of cutting off the heads of all who did not 


96 


DAVID TODD, 


believe as he did. Her great-grandfather had been 
a churchman, foolish and ignorant enough to advo- 
cate the trial of certain persons for sorcery. Her 
father had been a gentleman of the cloth, partaking 
of many of the characteristics of bis ancestors, and 
held in check from being as practically bad as they, 
by the spirit of the age in which he lived, which 
spirit, despite the influence of the aforementioned 
clergy, had developed from a warped and rickety 
infant into a lusty and beautiful youth, albeit still 
possessed of taints of hereditary diseases. 

The worldly attorney aforesaid had, in the course 
of his contact with the devout and ubiquitous old 
lady, occasionally hinted that Mrs. Maxwell was 
somewhat bigoted and superstitious. This she 
volubly denied, aflirming that if there was anything 
she abhorred above all others it was superstition, 
and emphatically asserted that she would as soon 
think of going to a theater, or of 'whistling a Psalm 
on the Lord’s day, as harbor a superstitious thought. 

At this point it may not be out of place to men- 
tion a characteristic event that occurred during her 
career. Being in a strange place over Sabbath, she 
wandered into an Universalist church, and after 
reading the inscription “God is Love,’’ which its 
worthy members had placed over the pulpit, dis- 
covered she was among Universalists: in dismay she 
arose and fled from the place in terror, and one 
street distant found peace and rest in the pew of an 
orthodox church with the consoling legend embel- 
lishing its walls, “Our God is a consuming fire. ’’ 


MRS, MAXWELL. 


97 


There can be little doubt that had she been a native 
of Italy and not of Scotland, she would have thought 
a shaved head, a low diet, and a candle especially 
needful to a high Christian life. 

If Mrs. Maxwell had a weakness greater than all 
her other weaknesses, it was for the clergy. Every 
man who mounted the pulpit, good, bad, or indiffer- 
ent (begging their reverences' pardon), appeared to 
her as a sacred being, and had she been a painter 
of sacred subjects, like many old masters, she would 
have handed every reverend gentleman of her ac- 
quaintance down to posterity in oil colors, with a 
circular halo of glory radiating about his head. 
Already she had canonized David Todd, and 
exalted him as the chief among ten thousand. 
Through this adoration the Crosscairn church trus- 
tees had been enabled to pay off an ancient mort- 
gage and reduce the pew-rents materially, and thus 
considerable good grew out of a piece of folly. 

Mrs. Maxwell, having little else to do, did not a 
little missionary work in Crosscairn. There were 
some very poor families in the neighborhood ; upon 
these she paid periodical visits, and, to her credit be 
it said, gave liberally of two things: Christian in- 
struction, such as it was, and Christian charity, in 
the practical form of victuals. In the capacity of 
a missionary of this nature, she found it helpful to 
associate herself frequently with David Todd, and 
through this circumstance, and the latent adoration 
she possessed for clerical gentlemen in general, it 
came about in course of time that she and the Min- 


98 


DAVID TODD, 


ister, to use a common simile, became as “thick as 
thieves/’ In this compact the old lady had found 
an opportunity to confide many events of her long 
life, in which she had not forgotten to tell of her 
experiences with the wealthy banker and his luxuri- 
ous family, and to relate in horror, with uplifted 
hands and raised eyes, the shortcomings of the 
worldly attorney. 

Said she one day, speaking of this latter world- 
ling, — “His ideas of religious subjects were indeed 
deplorable — why, my dear Mr. Todd, we were one 
day conversing of prayer and the necessary reverent 
attitude to be taken in that solemn act, when he 
chilled me by giving, as his opinion, that attitude 
had nothing whatever to do with prayer, and that a 
man could as well offer his prayer while walking 
erect, as when on his knees, with bowed head. 
‘Why,’ said he, ‘if lam not right, there is no salva- 
tion for a man with a broken leg, or a poor wretch 
with a stiff neck.’ ” 

David Todd called often on Mrs. Maxwell, and 
whenever a whim seized the old lady she sent for 
him. He was her adviser in many things, and she 
had learned to rely upon his judgment and to con- 
fide her profoundest secrets to his ear. Was it a 
scriptural text that needed lucid interpretation, 
David Todd opened up the light of his mental lumi- 
nary upon it; was it a question as to whether auld 
Tam Nesbit pawned the last donation for drink, 
or if widow McElvy had seven or eight children, 
the Minister came and answered; was it a piece of 


MRS. MAXWELL. 


99 


family history she longed to utter, the Minister was 
called to listen, and comment ; but in all of these 
interviews and confidences the good man, true to 
his shady peculiarity, kept his own counsel as touch- 
ing his individual affairs. 

It was at one of these visits, when sitting after tea 
in Mrs. Brown’s neat little back parlor, that Mrs. 
Maxwell opened her mind to Mr. Todd upon an 
entirely new subject, which in course of time proved 
to be one largely influencing the destinies of a few of 
Crosscairn’s present and prosective denizens, not ex- 
cepting the Minister himself. 

Said Mrs. Maxwell, rising and closing the door 
to the next room: “I have for some time, my dear 
Mr. Todd, been anxious to speak to you about an 
affair which disturbs me at times and involves a 
chapter of my past history.” 

David Todd set led himself comfortably in his 
chair, and signified his willingness to listen. 

‘‘You must not be alarmed at the prospect of a 
very long story, if I take you back over a space of 
more than twenty-five years,” said Mrs. Mawxell. 
‘‘I had lost both my husband and infant son but a 
few months before the time of which I am now 
speaking, and had gone to live with my younger 
brother James, who was at that time preaching in 
the South of England at a place called Huntley. 
He had been ordained shortly after his graduation 
as minister of the parish church at that place, and 
there he began his labors in as godless a community 
as any in the kingdom ; but I will not stop to tell you 


160 


DAVID TODD. 


of his work there, indeed he had but fairly begun 
it, I may say, when he was taken away to his reward; 
but I must not dwell upon these things, but go on to 
the real story I have to tell. You will bear with 
me, my dear Mr. Todd, if I seem to wander in my 
narrative, but in order that you may better under- 
stand the circumstances I wish to relate, it may be 
needful to digress to some extent. Well, to make a 
new beginning, I was living, as I have said, with 
brother James in the wicked parish of Huntley, 
when one day I was surprised to receive a visit in 
that remote place from my mother’s sister’s husband, 
Mr. Peter Craig, or Uncle Peter, as we called him. 
(Uncle Peter was a widower, with an only daughter^ 
my cousin Jessie.) He came to tell me of a do- 
mestic trouble that was on his mind. Uncle Peter 
was a man of very large means; he had made his 
money in the East India trade, and when he came 
to see me at Huntley had been retired from busi- 
ness for several years. I might here say, Uncle 
Peter was a very independent man. He boasted 
often that he had never known a blood relation 
since he was a boy, and that he had made his way 
in the world without the help of any one. Though 
he had some faults, as the best of us have, he was 
always fixed in an upright Christian course, and 
never yielded in his righteous opinions, though he 
made many enemies. I cannot positively say why, 
but he was always particularly kind to me, and often 
made the remark, that if he did not leave his for- 
tune to church or state, he would divide it between 


MRS. MAXWELL. 


lOI 


his daughter, Jessie, and me. Jessie was about ten 
years younger than I, and I often spent months at 
Uncle Peter’s as her cousin, governess, and friend. 
At his home Uncle Peter was a remarkably exem- 
plary man, and while he was properly firm with his 
daughter, Jessie, yet she often thought him unduly 
severe. Jessie, I remember, was always a passion- 
ate and willful girl, and frequently broke her father’s 
rule. She might have got along with him better if 
she had been more like me in disposition, but she 
never could abide restraint, and as her father was 
nobly determined to conquer her sinful spirit, a feel- 
ing which I may call an enmity at last grew up be- 
tween them. Uncle Peter was a very religious and 
good man, you must distinctly understand, though, 
as I have said, some thought him too strict in his 
views, and too severe in his manner of life, but I 
can say truly, that he was not more sti;ict than my 
own father, and I can with a clear conscience say 
that I never found it difficult to obey him in every- 
thing. My Uncle Peter detested worldliness in all 
its forms, while Jessie was particularly worldly in 
her tastes and pleasures, and this difference was a 
source of continual trouble. I recollect that my 
sister’s husband, the Edinburgh lawyer, of whom I 
have before spoken, was not on speaking terms with 
uncle, on account of a dispute as to the rights a 
parent had to coerce the minds of his children in 
spiritual matters. Uncle would never speak to my 
sister’s husband after that dispute, though my 
brother-in-law made frequent attempts to renew 


102 


DAVID TODD, 


the acquaintance. Speaking of this leads me to 
say, also, that my brother, the banker, was not a 
favorite of Uncle Peter’s on the ground of his ex- 
pensive and luxurious mode of life, which was a just 
ground, as I have reason to know. 

am grieved to say,” said Mrs. Maxwell with 
a sigh, ‘‘that Uncle’s was not at all times a happy 
home, because there was no sympathy of sentiment 
existing between father and daughter. Oh, Mr. 
Todd, Jessie was such a worldly and willful daugh- 
ter! Uncle Peter would sometimes come to me and 
tell me of the disobedience of his daughter. He 
would say to me: ‘Would you do thus and so? 
Would you behave as Jessie does? Did you, when 
you were her age? Would you disobey my com- 
mands?’ To these questions I would answer duti- 
fully, and he would praise me as a young woman 
among a thousand. Sometimes Jessie would re- 
proach me for influencing her father and confiding 
her disobedient and sinful thoughts to his ear, which 
I did for her good. At these times she would pas- 
sionately upbraid me and call me a meddlesome 
Puritan ; a mean-spirited saint, and similar names; 
but I generally went to my Bible and read a chap- 
ter, or sought Uncle Peter for sympathy, and in- 
variably felt better and happier for the contempt 
she put upon me. I remember at one time I re- 
monstrated with her for using the expressions: 
‘Goodness’; ‘By Jingo,’ and ‘As I’m a living 
sinner. ' 

“I cautioned her against the use of the first, as it 


MRS, MAXWELL. 


103 

was a divine attribute. The second I said was a 
direct violation of the commandment, and as for 
the third it was an expression of the unholiest levi- 
ty, a deliberate wickedness in making light of man’s 
lost condition under the fall. I pointed out to her 
the lurking profanity in the word ‘living,’ and the 
suggestion it aroused of the name of the Deity. 
What was her answer, think you, my dear Mr. 
Todd? To my remonstrances she drew down the 
corners of her mouth, rolled up her eyes (which I 
must confess were beautiful), and said in a deep 
voice, ‘Thus endeth the reading of the fortieth chap- 
ter.’ Shall I tell you further what this worldly child 
did? — Yes, and then you will better understand her 
sinful nature. She laughed heartily, yes, and con- 
temptuously, picked up her skirts, and danced, — 
yes, danced about the room, and left me with the 
words: ‘Bosh, as I’m a living sinner.’ ” 

Mrs. Maxwell rolled up her eyes and went 
on: 

“When I told Uncle Peter of these things he pun- 
ished her, by depriving her of the privilege of leav- 
ing the house for a week. As time went by and 
Jessie grew older, she chafed under her father’s re- 
straint more and more, and when she refused to 
connect herself, at his positive command, with the 
church of which he was an elder, it threw him into 
such a passion that a fit of apoplexy was the result. 
Oh, how I felt for the good old man ! After that 
time I never saw Cousin Jessie again, but I fre- 
quently heard from Uncle Peter by letter, and he 


104 


DAVID TODD, 


had always something to tell of Jessie’s wayward, 
wicked, and independent course. 

“It was some years after I had last seen Cousin 
Jessie (at that time I was married, and Uncle Peter 
had, let me say, been very kind in giving me a wed- 
ding gift of a thousand pounds), when I heard of a 
new trouble that had arisen between her and Uncle 
Peter. She had, it seems, persistently defied him, 
and against his express orders had engaged herself 
to a young man of no means whatever. This young 
man was a doctor, or, rather, at that time he was a 
student of medicine. He was said to be a young 
man, quite alone in the world, who had by very hard 
work saved enough to put himself through school 
and college, and though he was poor and of no social 
standing, having risen from poverty and orphanage, 
I must say, in simple justice, that I never heard of his 
having any bad habits. However, Uncle Peter op- 
posed him with his whole strong will, and I am con- 
fident he had good grounds for his opposition, 
though he never definitely stated them to me. 

“I have now come, Mr. To3d, to the period of 
Uncle Peter’s visit to Huntley. He came, poor 
man, to confide in me as of old, and to tell me that 
his wayward daughter had deserted her poor old 
father, and married this man and gone away, whither 
he did not know. He told me, good, consistent, 
old man, that he had remonstrated with her, had 
threatened her, had denounced the man of her 
choice as an impecunious fortune-hunter, and no 
match for her. She had replied that he was as good 


MRS. MAXWELL, 


loS 

as she, and an honest, single-hearted man, and 
ended by boldly telling her father that as she loved 
the man and as he loved her, and as they were both 
of age, she would do as she pleased in the matter 
and marry him as soon as he was ready to take 
her. 

‘'At this Uncle Peter threatened to disown her, 
but she was obstinate and fixed in her wicked pur- 
pose, and poor Uncle Peter, in the justice of his 
opposition, martyred himself, if I may so speak some- 
what figuratively, on the altar of his principles, and 
drove his undutiful daughter from the shelter of his 
home and from his heart. 

“Uncle Peter remained at Huntley several weeks, 
and during that time I did all I could to console 
him and make him forget his troubles. I had lost 
my husband and my child only a short time before, 
and there seemed to be between us a fellowship of 
sorrow and sympathy. I will not tax your time in 
telling you of our conversations and our mutual 
condolences. Let me simply say that when Uncle 
Peter’s stay at Huntley drew to a close he would 
not hear of my refusal to accompany him to his 
home. So it came about that I became, as it were, 
a daughter to him, and made my home with him as 
such. I will not stop to tell you of the four years I 
spent with Uncle Peter, or to relate the circum- 
stances of his death at the close of that time. Let 
me only say that up to the last he refused to interest 
himself as to his daughter’s whereabouts, for we had 
never made inquiry or known anything as to where 


io6 


DAVID rODD. 


she had gone, or how she lived. All we knew was, 
that on leaving her father’s house she had married 
and gone away.” 

The old lady paused a moment and then re- 
sumed: “Uncle Peter often said, ‘Well, she has 
made her bed, and in it she may lie.’ You may 
readily understand the character of Uncle Peter. 
He was a most consistent man, and as he had be- 
gun life with firm principles and fixed ideas of 
right, he was not to be turned from them, but died 
as he had lived — a stalwart Christian, ready to sac- 
rifice everything for his opinions.” 

David Todd had listened attentively to Mrs. Max- 
well’s story to this point. Now he did not speak, 
but changing his attitude and crossing his legs he 
sighed. This sigh was eloquent, but as it was char- 
acteristic of the man in its general uncertainty of 
meaning, it was difficult to interpret ; whether he 
sighed at the thought of the death of this useful and 
good old Christian, who had sacrificed a wayward 
daughter for his opinions, or whether he sighed to 
think the tyrannical and narrow-minded old sinner 
had been allowed to live so long, was a question net 
to be definitely answered. However, Mrs. Maxwell 
understood it as an expression of the former senti- 
ment. 

‘‘Several weeks after Uncle Peter’s death,” Mrs. 
Maxwell began anew, “I received a note from his 
solicitors, Flint & Leach; they desired to see me 
on important business. I visited them at their 
office, and learned from them the contents of 


MRS, MAXWELL, 


107 


Uncle’s will, which he made and delivered to his 
attorneys upon the day preceding his death. In it 
he left me a comfortable annuity, with his blessing; 
besides, he bequeathed to me the entire residue of 
his large fortune, with one provision or condition, 
marked ‘Clause No. Six,’ which stated that if either 
Jessie or the man she married were dead with sur- 
viving issue, such issue, in the words of the will, 
should receive that portion of the estate otherwise 
bequeathed to me, Eleanor Maxwell. In case of a 
number of heirs under this clause, the estate was to 
be divided equally among them as they came of age 
respectively. There was another clause which read 
‘No steps shall be taken by my executors, Flint 
Leach, or by their successors, or by the named 
beneficiary of this will and testament, to discover 
the existence of any of the said parties or their heirs 
herein before mentioned in Clause No. Six.’ There 
was another clause providing, that if, after twenty- 
one years from the date of the testator’s death, the 
estate had not been administered as provided for in 
‘Clause No. Six,’ the said Eleanor Maxwell (mean- 
ing me) would become the sole and rightful benefi- 
ciary and heir under the conditions.” 

‘‘Now, my dear Mr. Todd, I have given you a 
piece of family history, for the purpose of getting 
your advice as to the proper course to be taken in 
the matter of future investment, for the fortune will 
come into my possession in a few months.” 

The Minister at this point, naturally enough, 
asked an important question: 


io8 


DAVID TODD. 


‘'What was the name of the young man whom 
your cousin married?” 

“William Rutherford.” 

“The will of your Uncle Peter was, of course, 
duly admitted to probate. It is strange, remark- 
able, truly, in view of the extent of the legacy and 
the conditions, that no heirs have appeared, at least 
that no pretending and fraudulent persons have 
claimed heirship. ” 

“There were indeed such,” said Mrs. Maxwell. 
“No less than three times has the legacy been 
claimed by fraudulent heirs whose claims were not 
substantiated by truth, but by evidence manufac- 
tured and contradictory. In every case the fraud 
was finally admitted and the perpetrators dealt with 
by law. ” 

“Did you ever hear of your cousin or her hus- 
band after they left the presence of your uncle?” 

Mrs. Maxwell answered: “No, that is, very in- 
definitely, — there was a rumor brought to us a few 
years after their disappearance that they were both 
dead, and as nothing was ever heard to the contrary, 
and as no one during all the years has appeared, 
there can be no doubt of its truth.” 

The Minister said: “Certainly, no doubt what- 
ever,” and entered into the real merits of the case, 
as touching the proper disposal of such a large sum 
as that which the fortunate Mrs. Maxwell was soon 
to inherit. So the evening went by, and the Minis- 
ter went home in the darkness of a late hour and 
repaired to his study to ruminate there an hour or 
two later. 


MJiS. McNEISH, 


109 


CHAPTER XII. 

MRS. M c N E I S H. 

M rs. McNEISH, although frequently seen in 
her pew at church, was not a regular attendant. 
Sometimes her duties were so arduous that she 
failed to connect with that institution, and heard 
the last bell ring from the square tower with much 
the same feelings as those experienced by a hurrying 
traveler who hears at a distance the bell of a loco- 
motive about to leave the station. At such times 
she was as angry and impatient as the said traveler; 
swearing roundly at fate and the inexorable time- 
table. Sandy, her husband, was generally solicitous 
and anxious as he clung to the bell-rope dX the 
church, and frequently released his grasp to peer 
through the little side-window in the vestibule to 
learn whether his spouse were coming or not. As 
the time drew near for the service to begin, and Mrs. 
McNeish was not in her pew, he rung a louder peal 
and nervously glanced again through the-^ side- 
window. If she did not appear he was fain to sup- 
plement his duty by an additional pull or two at the 
rope, as much as to say: “There, guid wife. I’ve 
delayed the gospel for your sake, an* if ye dinna 
heed the means o’ grace sae liberally offered, ye 
maun just perish in your sins.” 

Now Sandy might have known in the perform- 
ance of this kindly duty he was doing himself an 
injury, for every time the bell sounded upon the 


110 


DAVID TODD. 


ears of Mrs. McNeish, her disappointment at not 
getting to church grew greater, and her ire arose 
correspondingly, and when he returned from the 
service he was made the recipient of so much ill- 
nature and indignity that all the good the sermon 
had done him was completely offset and destroyed. 
On the other hand, when he was fortunate enough to 
pull her into her pew, as it were, by the bell-rope, 
she was particularly mellow and bland for a short 
period thereafter. 

But if Mrs. McNeish at times missed the morning 
service, she never failed to be at her place in the 
Sabbath-school in the afternoon. She was a teacher 
there. The teacher of a class of youngsters who 
came regularly to repeat the catechism and long 
verses of scripture. Think of that, my good 
friends; Mrs. McNeish was a teacher in the Sabbath 
school! and there were a dozen more like her there. 

If Mrs. McNeish could not justly be considered 
qualified in divers respects for her work, it must be 
admitted that there was one thing to be said about 
her, in which she would have won the praise of edu- 
cational men and professional teachers generally, — 
to wit, she never confined herself to the text-book ; 
she could have taught without it. She knew every 
question and answer and every scriptural proof per- 
fectly, and if all the Bibles in the universe had been 
piled in a heap and burned, Mrs. McNeish and her 
associates in Crosscairn could have dictated it anew, 
with discrepancies only in the numbering of a few 
verses, and perhaps an occasional error in the names 


MRS. McNEISH. 


Ill 


of certain persons and places, due to the various 
and novel methods of orthography and phonics at 
Crosscairn, which were not always reliable or 
uniform. 

Mrs. McNeish, in her capacity as teacher, ex- 
pounded the scriptures to the innocents under her 
charge. She did it in such a manner that every 
little youngster who woke up in the night with a 
nightmare or a fever, found himself surrounded by 
Eastern terrors or saw the devil — as pictures made 
him, and as Mrs. McNeish described him, har- 
pooning lost spirits with a long-tined fork, and 
laughing with malicious glee at the torments of cer- 
tain doomed souls (among whom they sometimes rec- 
ognized themselves) who floundered miserably in a 
burning and sulphurous lake. Mrs. McNeish was a 
practical sort of a character. She had little patience 
with fancy, as before hinted. In her Bible studies 
she brought down anything she could bring to a 
practical point of view, — that is, she accepted each 
passage literally, and never found a principle in a 
parable. Her mental calibre was of such limits and 
her education of so meager an extent, that it was 
comparatively little she found in scripture, under 
all the conditions, capable of being reconciled to 
practical living. But what mattered that? The 
Bible to her was a book to be believed, yet not nec- 
essarily to be understood. The book itself as a 
material, tangible thing was to be reverenced, more 
than the spirit of the words it contained. If she 
had discovered Mysie placing a book or other arti- 


DAV/jD TODD. 


i 12 

cle upon its covers, she would have cuffed and 
abused the innocent child. The Bible was a guide 
to heaven ; it was not a guide to help one through 
earth. What it contained appealed to her most 
strongly, when most mysterious and unintelligible ; 
to its mysteries she applied her narrow, practical 
thought, and the book became a catalogue of things 
which had no likeness upon earth. What she did 
not readily understand, however, she did not at- 
tempt further to know. It was enough for her that 
investigation was sinful, and that she hoped she 
never would be, more than in a hereditary and scrip- 
tural sense, based on the passage which set forth 
that as Adam fell so all men fell with him. Among 
things which she accepted as facts, or never paused 
to doubt, were the following representatively : The 
picture of the Deity in the Minister’s big Bible at 
home was a true presentment taken from life, and 
that heaven was overhead and the other place un- 
derfoot, which latter, in regard to the spherical 
form of the earth (which she had heard of) and cer- 
tain laws of attraction and gravitation (whi^h she 
was ignorant of), was rather a confusing belief, 
when applied to all places on the globe; for Mrs. 
McNeish, when she thought of the bottomless pit, 
did not stop at the earth’s center, but went all the 
way through. 

Under her teaching a generation had grown up 
with much the same scope of mind and belief, and 
she still continued to instruct. Whenever a child 
was able to repeat a large number of verses or to 


MRS. McNEISH. 


1 13 

commit the catechism to memory without any idea 
of the meaning of the words, it was rewarded with a 
gift, from the Sabbath-school, of a Bible. There 
were some bright scholars who had won a number 
of them. Crosscairn having but one idea of a Sab- 
bath-school gift, viz., a Bible, always. One pro- 
gressive individual had on a certain occasion sug- 
gested a lively change, in the shape of Josephus and 
Fox’s Book of Martyrs, but the innovative thought 
died without a struggle and was forgotten. Mrs. 
McNeish being a keen one, and qualified to get out 
of her subordinates all the work they were capable 
of (as was witnessed by her husband and every wee 
servant lassie that she had ruled), had generally an 
active class in the tournament for Bibles. 

This teacher of the young, this exponent of a book 
so full of gentle and benign lessons, had never 
learned the simplest rule of its many gracious pre- 
cepts. She had read “Love one another,” but it 
had not suggested to her anything. It was a bare, 
hard passage of scripture to her, a phrase to be 
read from the Bible and uttered from the pulpit 
only. She had read and heard time and again that 
“Anger resteth in the bosom of fools,” and she had 
been admonished from the pulpit repeatedly, “Be 
not hasty in thy spirit to be angry,” but it never 
occurred to her that the words applied to her or her 
generation. They belonged to the Bible and the 
people of the Bible. Her creed was to know the 
words of a formula, called the Creed, and to believe 
in a set form of speech, known as a “Profession of 


DAVID TODD, 


II4 

Faith.** She was so narrow in mind, so ignorant 
and sinful and altogether so sincerely contemptible 
in her whole mental and moral organism, that she 
was not by any course of reasoning to be accounted 
for. She would have sworn belief and faith in all 
the orthodox truths (labeled as such) she had ever 
heard, and yet never have known the influence of 
the truth. Yea, in her dogmatic obstinacy, she 
would have burned at the stake for the sake of forty 
principles she did not understand and would not 
try to understand. Her reasoning was after this 
fashion: “Do I believe this or that? Yes. Why? 
Because I do, and there’s an end o’ it.” 

Many an angry word and many a savage cuff did 
this orthodox barbarian bestow upon little Mysie 
McGill. What did she care for the poor little creat- 
ure? This much, she would be sworn; she cared 
for her soul and wanted her to be saved. What 
“saved” was meant to imply, and why she wanted 
Mysie or any one else saved, she had a very vague 
notion of. If the process of analysis could be ap- 
plied to her reasoning on these subjects it might 
have been thus ; that saved meant to die believing 
just as she did, and as to why she desired this for 
others as a good thing, she had an abiding faith that 
it would exempt the person dying from an eternity 
of torture (of a physical nature), and entitle the 
saved to a place in some unlocated, unbounded, in- 
conceivable, brilliantly lighted abode, where instru- 
mental music (which she could not tolerate in 
church) would be heard, and robes, and crowns, 


MRS, McNEISH. 


IIS 

and palms and candlesticks would constitute — 
thingumbob in thingum. She did not stand alone 
in the world; she had a multitudinous following of 
distant relations, all of an identical species, modified 
by a score of varied conditions, and all, condition- 
ally, as bad as she. Sandy was a church-member 
in contrast. He believed just as his wife did, 
though about all he did directly for the church was 
to keep it clean with a broom, warm it in winter, 
and ring the bell. He was a simple, weak-minded, 
yet sunny-hearted man, carrying a pleasant smile 
on his face and a kind word on his lips at all times, 
when not in the presence of his wife. If he allowed 
any exuberance of good feeling to show itself before 
her, she covered him with contempt and abused him 
for being a fool, but Sandy still kept, despite the 
rule under which he lived, a sunny heart, and even 
under the nose of his frowning wife found oppor- 
tunity to wink a kind feeling at Mysie, his fellow- 
sufferer, and to do some little act of kindness and 
sacrifice for the little child. 

Mysie was a willing little soul. She had been 
bred, as before said, in poverty and had worked like 
a slave throughout her childhood. She was at ser- 
vice at the Minister’s, to earn a few paltry shillings 
for her father’s low treasury, and to remove the bur- 
den of her meager bodily support from his already 
over-taxed powers of maintenance. Willingly, pa- 
tiently, deftly, little Mysie wrought day by day. 
She would have sung at her work, being cheerful 
and hopeful of heart, but Mrs. McNeish would not 


Il6 DAVID TODD. 

allow such liberty and levity in the Minister's 
house, or anywhere else for that matter. Every- 
thing natural of that character was wrong in Mrs. 
McNeish’s eyes, and in a child was especially to be 
checked. Once a week, upon Sabbath afternoon, 
Mysie was allowed to go home to visit her own peo- 
ple. To this she looked forward with pleasure dur- 
ing the week, and the Sabbath morning was a bright 
day to her, though it broke in clouds and rain. 
She could hardly keep from singing on that morn- 
ing, even in the presence of the ogress that ruled 
over her. When she heard the church bells ring 
they seemed to be chimes, clanging a cheery song, 
the burthen of which was : 

“ Bim ! Bom ! Borne ! 

Mysie, come home V* 

She told this little fancy to Sandy once in confi- 
dence, and he clapped his hands on his knees and 
laughed so loud and so merrily, out of good-will and 
pleasure, albeit there was water in his eyes, that 
Mrs. McNeish, coming in suddenly, sharply repri- 
manded them both for profaning the Sabbath, but 
ever after, when Sandy pulled the bell-rope he tried 
to regulate the strokes to the rhythm of Mysie’s 
fancy and thought he succeeded, and truly he did 
succeed, for, even if his dull ear could not exactly 
be satisfied with the result, his sensitive heart could 
discern the words in the clanging strokes. 

Mr. Todd rarely frequented the dungeon in which 
Mrs. McNeish kept her prisoners and tortured them, 
viz., the kitchen. He was generally to be found in 


Mrs. Mcneish. 


Hi 

his rooms above, when in the house; particularly 
of late he had confined himself to his study, the 
door of which he generally kept closed. When he 
descended to the lower regions, he seldom seemed 
to notice Mysie, who crept away at his approach in 
profound awe of the reverend gentleman. Some- 
times she passed him upon the stairs and occasionally 
she caught a glimpse of him sitting at his table, 
meditating or writing in his study. If he did not 
see her, she cast wondering and reverent looks at 
him and hurried along about her duty, to think of 
him at her work. He was a great, a wonderful and 
awful man in her eyes. She often wondered, in her 
thoughts of him, while about her work, if when he 
looked upward so solemnly with his earnest eyes, 
he did not look straight through the clouds and see 
directly into heaven. 

The Minister had spoken to her a few times and 
then in a kindly way, and Mysie had been so abashed 
at the thought of his stooping from his high place 
to address her that speech had been denied her, but 
on her visit to her own home afterward, she had 
devoted a full hour to a repetition of his words with 
all the surrounding crcumstances, the recital being 
listened to by an attentive group, consisting of her 
parents and her brothers and sisters. 

Had Mrs. McNeish found the Minister speaking 
to Mysie she would have opened her batteries of 
abuse upon the child, at the first opportunity con- 
venient, and denounced her as an “impident, bra- 
zen wee hizzie.” 


DAVID TODD. 


Ii8 

One Saturday morning little Mysie, in the kitchen, 
ventured upon conversation with Mrs. McNeish. 
“My aunt frae Glasgow is cornin’ to Crosscairn to- 
day/’ said Mysie. 

“Is she?’’ — from Mrs. McNeish. 

“Yes, mem, she’s feyther’s only sister, and she 
has na’ seen him for mair than twenty-five years,’’ 
continued Mysie, encouraged. 

“I’m no surprised, he’s no’ muckle o* a sicht 
tae see.’’ This was characteristic of the savage. 

Mysie worked on in silence for a little time, some- 
what dashed, but her forgiving little heart was full 
of an innocent pleasure in anticipation, and like a 
child she wanted some one to share it. 

“I’ll see her the morn when I gang hame,’’ began 
Mysie again. 

“Will ye? That’s if yer wark’s a’ din.’’ 

“Yes, mem, but I’ll work vera hard the day and 
hae everything din as it should be, for I’m tae sit be- 
side her at the dinner an’ they’re tae wait til’ I come. 
Sae, I’d no’ leave onything that wad hinder me.’’ 

“See here, ma wee woman, if ye’d see yer aunt 
the morn, ye’ll no’ need tae be sae gabby the day.’’ 

This closed the conversation, but Mysie later in 
the day found a willing listener in Sandy, to whom 
she told all her anticipations, and gave that good- 
hearted man a glowing account of the preparations 
made for her aunt’s reception, not forgetting to 
enumerate the special delicacies of currant bread 
and jam, made and hoarded to grace the family ban- 
quet on the morrow. 


MYS/E^S AUNT. 


II9 


CHAPTER XIII. 

mysie’s aunt. 

T he next day found Mysie bestirring herself 
earlier than usual. Coming downstairs on tip- 
toe, she entered the kitchen to find Sandy, ever an 
early riser, ruminating quietly, with a pipe in his 
mouth. When he became aware of a footfall on the 
kitchen floor, he slipped the pipe from his mouth 
and turned around with an expression of feature 
that said: “Is it smokin’, ye say? Weel, that’s ae 
thing I never indulge in, in the mornin’.’’ When 
he saw Mysie he put his pipe back in his mouth and 
gave her “good-morning.’’ Mysie put on her great 
apron, and rolling her sleeves above her elbows, went 
to work like an experienced housewife, while Sandy 
smoked and chatted with her, casting sidelong 
glances toward the door by which his wife might 
enter. 

“ Ye’ll hae fine weather. I’m thinkin’,for yer day 
aff,’’ said Sandy, looking out of the window. 

“I hope sae,’’ answered Mysie, “for after dinner 
we’re a’ gaun oot for a walk.’’ 

“Id’ no’ say, but some wad think it no’ just the 
richt thing tae hae sae muckle pleasure on the Sab- 
bath,’’ said Sandy contemplatively. 

“Weel, I was thinkin’ that mysel’, but ye ken, 
Mr. McNeish, it’s a harmless pleasure,’’ answered 
Mysie. 

“Oh, I dinna think it wrang mysel’, wee lass, but 


120 


DAVID TODD. 


I doot the wife micht think differently ; leastways it 
wad be best no’ tae speak o’t tae Mrs. McNeish, 
for ye ken she’s unco’ rigid in some o’ her opinions, 
and belike she’d put something in the way o’ yer 
ganging hame at a’ if she thoucht ye were thinkin’ 
o’ pleasure on the Lord’s Day. Ye ken, the wife’s 
a gey guid Christian woman, wi’ perhaps a wee bit 
ower muckle o’ a bad temper, an’ — ” (here Sandy 
spoke somewhat to himself in a parenthetical way), 
“if her principles didna keep ye at hame, her tem- 
per micht.” 

“Oh, Mr. McNeish, I’d be sairly disappointed if 
I couldna’ gang hame this day,” said Mysie sin- 
cerely. 

“Weel, never fear, lass, ye’ll gang as ye wish, as 
sure as ma name is Sandy, if I hae tae bring doon 
the wife’s wrath on ma ain heid, which the Lord 
forbid.” 

Mrs. McNeish came down shortly after this dia- 
logue in no amiable temper, for she always seemed 
to have a special spite at the world at the beginning 
of a new day. After driving Sandy out of the 
house she began to order Mysie to do all that she 
was already doing, and to fill the kitchen generally 
with her presence. 

After breakfast, the Minister held family worship, 
at which the household assembled, and Mysie 
among the others was called. Up from the kitchen 
came breathless little Mysie, out of her half-finished 
drudgery, and from her half-finished meal she came, 
>vith the sharp commands of her taskmaster still in 


MYSIE^S AUNT, 


I 21 


her ears, with the stains and the grit of all dirty 
work upon her, with the prospect before her of sev- 
eral hours of practical hard labor. Up she came 
this Sabbath morning, into the little front sitting- 
room, which looked out upon the Kirk Brae, and 
took her seat deferentially, flanked by Mrs. McNeish 
and Sandy, while the Minister, seated opposite, in 
grave and measured tones took for the subject of 
the morning’s contemplation a chapter in which oc- 
curred these words: “Inasmuch as ye have done it 
unto the least of one of these, ye have done it unto 
me.” 

Following family worship the Minister went to 
his study; Sandy betook himself to a remote part of 
the house, where he might shave himself in safety, 
for he lived in that age when no man could shave 
without gashing himself horribly, unless surrounded 
by silence and in solitude. Mrs. McNeish retired 
to her toilet, from which she emerged at intervals 
(clad imperfectly, holding her hair between her 
teeth, and looking like a bridled tiger) to keep an 
eye upon the little maid, who toiled with pot and 
pan, dish-cloth and broom. 

.And now the church bell under Sandy’s control 
began to clang and jangle and boom upon the quiet 
Sabbath morning. Through the adjacent streets its 
voice rang loudly ; far away, in a musical echo, it 
sung through the fields ; down amidst the sound of 
dashing water at the Quays, it hummed like an 
^olian harp and died on its way out to sea; up the 
slopes of the ridge of hills behind the Manse it 


122 


DAVID TODD. 


rolled and reverberated; it thundered in a noisy 
volume of sound around the Manse itself, and called 
the somber clergyman and the termagant housewife 
to pulpit and pew, and even condescended to go 
boldly in the kitchen of the Manse with its 
Bim ! Bom ! Borne ! 

Mysie, come home ! ** 

When Mrs. McNeish came home from church she 
found that Mysie had been as good as her word, 
and had left nothing to hinder her visit home. It 
was with a light step and a happy heart that Mysie 
then tripped to her attic room to array herself in her 
best, and it was with a face and a voice of pleasure 
(which ought to have converted that heathen Mc- 
Neish) that she bade good-by to her mistress, with a 
promise to be on hand betimes in the morning. 

“An* see that ye keep yer word, ma gay young 
lass, or it’ll be the warse for ye,” was Mrs. Mc- 
Neish’s parting benediction. 

Mysie had a good time the rest of the day. 
There was a happy family reunion at the McGill’s, 
father, mother, sisters and brothers and the aunt 
from Glasgow were all there, and what with wel- 
comes, mutual compliments, and substantial fare, 
they began the afternoon. The aunt from Glasgow 
had much to tell of experiences since she left Cross- 
cairn ; Mysie’s father and mother had a great deal 
to relate, including ups and downs in life, births 
and infantile complaints; Mysie had the story of 
the week to impart, in which she never complained 
of Mrs. McNeish ; the younger children had each 


MYSIE'S AUNT. I23 

an interest in the general sentiment, and the dinner 
was a success. 

Late in the afternoon the whole family went out 
for a walk. It was a pleasant day, and they went 
toward the fields, passing the Dalrnelington house, 
where Squire Amphlett lived. Mysie told her aunt 
that she had c^en the Squire’s daughter two or three 
times at church, and praised her beauty and and 
sweetness. Tl::n shey turned toward the sea and 
walked for a mile or two along the shore road, chat- 
ting of many things and watching the water dash- 
ing upon the rocks or creeping upon the sandy 
beach. Mysie’s aunt recollected that in her youth 
she had heard of a traveler being murdered upon 
this lonely road, one dark and rainy night, and 
Mysie told of a ship that had gone against the rocks 
one night, and how thirteen sailors had perished 
without help. 

It was quite dark when they reached the Quays 
on their return, and passed the Black Bull ; but they 
prolonged their walk up the Kirk Brae to the church 
and the Manse, where Mysie showed her aunt 
where the Minister’s room was and where she, her- 
self, spent the week. Mysie was eloquent on the 
subject of the Minister, and told what a good man 
he was, and how he had noticed her once during the 
week just passed. 

From the head of the Kirk Brae they all returned 
homeward and passed through Garrick Road. Here 
Mysie pointed out the place where Mrs. Maxwell 
Jived, and related to her aunt that she had heard 


124 


DAVID TODD, 


that Mrs. Maxwell was a titled lady and owned 
seven grand estates in England; but lived in Cross- 
cairn so that she might be able to hear Mr. Todd 
preach. A short distance on, at the Hopsons’, she 
gave a history of the good old people, and explained 
that their son, John, was a young doctor from Edin- 
burgh. “He was a very handsome young man,’’ 
she said, and she had heard “that he was a lad o’ 
Miss Grace Amphlett’s. ’’ 

After a long walk in which much had been seen 
and enjoyed, and during which a lively fire of con- 
versation had been kept up by the whole family, 
they reached home to take tea and enjoy a long 
evening of story and reminiscence. 

Seated in their humble home, after tea, then be- 
hold the McGill family desecrating the Sabbath 
with worldly conversation. Behold Thomas Mc- 
Gill, dressed in his best (his best was his every-day 
clothes brushed, his boots blacked, and a clean col- 
lar), smiling upon his sister from Glasgow, and utter- 
ing in ejaculatory and hoarse whispers, “Ma Goad,’’ 
every time she related a surprising experience of 
life in the metropolis, and emphasizing his own 
recital of events by a frequent use of a mild form of 
oath, “By Jinkers!” Behold Mrs. McGill in her 
best gown (worn to-day for the first time), listen- 
ing, while she undressed the youngest of her family, 
and verifying all her husband said by an occasional 
'T’ faith ye may believe him, it’s a’ gospel.’’ Be- 
hold little Mysie, lifted to the dignity of her elders 
(in being at service), an attentive auditor, somewhat 


MYSIE'S AUNT. 


I2S 

uncertain about how much she might venture into 
conversation, but shrewdly saying little. Behold 
Aunt Catherine, with the polish of a great city about 
her, dressed “gey snod,” as Mysie said afterward, 
and glib of speech and keen of fancy. Behold the 
children staying up on this occasion, overjoyed at 
the thought of making a night of it, but falling 
asleep one by one, ere Aunt Catherine had told half. 

Many were the stories told that night of auld lang 
syne, recollections of childhood and youth, memo- 
ries of days long past and kindred long dead ; they 
laughed and wept together over the past, and the 
bond of affection was welded closer at every laugh 
and at every tear. 

Aunt Catherine had much to tell of the great 
city of Glasgow which interested Mysie, for she 
had never been out of Crosscairn, and even in her 
primitive geography Airdmill, five miles distant, 
was a far-away and foreign town. Innocently she 
looked upon her aunt as a great traveler, and in- 
deed she could not help giving her aunt some of that 
adoration of awe which she gave Mr. Todd. Some- 
how, in her mind, as she listened, she unconsciously 
associated her aunt with the good Minister, as that 
exemplary character had himself taken a journey to 
Glasgow only a few weeks before, to attend a meet- 
ing of presbytery, so Mrs. McNeish had said, and 
Mysie had seen him leave the house, and had stood 
looking after him, thinking what a great journey was 
before him, and wondering if she would ever see the 


* Gey snod — Quite fine. 


126 


DAVID TODD, 


sights of that distant city. It may have been, and 
probably was, these identical circumstances of travel 
and destination that caused Mysie to associate the 
twain; she doubtless would have accounted for the 
association in that way, and yet so strong was the 
idea, that had she been more sensitive in intuition, 
and versed in a philosophy which discerns a subtle 
current of magnetism in thoughts and events, com- 
plete in its circuit, she might have traced a finer 
thread of connection between the Minister and her 
aunt, extending and connecting other people and 
other events. 

Mysie’ s aunt had served in many places, and had 
much to tell of many people and varied experiences. 
There was one reminiscence of the past which inter- 
ested Mysie, especially, and often afterward she 
remembered it. Aunt Catherine related it after the 
children had been put to bed, and being among the 
last of the related experiences, Mysie went to bed 
with it on her mind. 

“Ye ken, Thomas,” said Aunt Catherine, “I 
had been awa frae Crosscairn aboot a year when I 
went tae service wi’ the young doctor, Rutherford 
was his name, and his wife I was speakin’ o’. They 
were na what ye’d ca’ vera weel tae dae, for he was 
no’ ower well clad, an’ had na ony practice in his 
profesion, that I could ever see. His wife, puir wee 
thing, was no’ vera strang, an’ what wi’ doin’ her 
ain wark and nursin’ a wee laddie bairn, she was in 
unco’ need o’ help. She was as bonny in her man- 
ners as in her looks, an’ a lady every inch o’ her; 


MYSIE^S AUNT. 


127 


though Lord kens she hadna riches, she had a 
proud though kind face and a dignity aboot her, 
that showed she had been weel reared, an* ane 
micht hae seen wi’ half an ee that she had nae 
mair fitness for poverty than the likes o’ us for grand 
riches. Hoo she ever did withoot help before I 
cam’ tae her I canna say, but Lord bless me, Thomas, 
when I saw her I was willin’ tae serve her withoot 
fashin’ mysel’ aboot wages. The doctor, her hus- 
band, was aye guid tae her, an’ did a’ he could for 
her happiness, wi’ kind words and cheerfulness ; but 
mony a time I noticed him, when oot o’ her sicht, 
draw a face as lang as a fiddle and look unco’ blue. 
They had an infant, as I was sayin’, a laddie no’ a 
year auld, an’ I weel mind what a tumlin’ wee tousie 
he was, aye keekin’ an crowin* when he should 
ha’e slept. Weel, tae mak’ a lang story short, I had 
been wi’ them aboot twa month an’ a fortnicht, 
when ae day in comes the young doctor a* smiles, 
an cries tae his wife: ‘It’s a’ settled, an’ I’m tae tak’ 
charge o’ the contagious ward’ : I didna hear mair, 
but I thoucht a situation in a pest-house was no’ a 
thing tae mak’ ane sae happy ; weel, the next day 
his wife tauld me that the doctor was tae be ane o’ 
the faculty o’ the hospital. ’Twas week frae that, 
the doctor wa taen wi’ a fever, an’ in anither week 
was stretched oot, deed in his ain ward.” 

Here Thomas McGill said, “Ma Goad!” and his 
wife ejaculated, “Lord bless us! Hud yer tongue!” 
little Mysie wiped a tear from her eye, and Aunt 
Catherine continued; 


128 


DAVID TODD, 


“It was enough tae break a body’s heart tae see 
the puir lady. She was na tae be comforted, but 
moaned and grat frae mornin* till nicht; what was 
mair, they wad na allow her tae see the body, but 
buried it frae the hospital. I did a’ I could tae 
cheer the puir wife, but I could na mak’ her forget. 
I asked her tae send for her frien’s, if she had them, 
but she shook her head ay sae sadly, an’ moaned 
that she had none. I tauld her tae think o’ her wee 
bit bairn an’ the comfort it wad be tae her; but she 
wad nae hear me. Weel, its a terrible thing tae tell, 
but sin’ I hae began the story, I may as weel tell a’: 
A month after her husban’ died (I was then at Pais- 
ley in a new place, for the puir widow went tae 
lodgin’ a week after her husband’s death), she left 
the hoosewi’ her bairn in her arms, and never cam’ 
back alive again. Whether she was dazed wi’ her 
grief, puir woman, an’ wandered awa tae fa’ into 
the water wi’ her bairn, or whether she was desperit 
an’ wanted tae drown hersel’ an’ her babe, I dinna 
ken, but there she was, ta’en frae the water by those 
who saw her fa’, an’ the wee bairnie alive, wrapped 
under its mither’s shawl, taen oot wi’ her.’’ 

Thomas looked on the floor and shook his head, 
sympathetically repeating, “Weel, weel, weel,” and 
his wife with her apron to her face moaned, “Ay 
woman, ay woman,’’ while Mysie’s little heart, full 
of another’s woe, sent the quiet tears of pity down 
her cheeks. 

“What became o’ the infant I dinna ken,’’ Aunt 
Catherine resumed in continuation of her story. “I 


A WINDFALL, 


129 


ken na mair than this: A gentleman took it hame 
\vi’ the consent o’ the police, and I ne’er heard 
mair o’ it. I tried tae fin’ oot the ane wha took it ; 
but I couldna’ get ony guid account o’ him, an’ sae 
I gied up the search. That was ane o’ my experi- 
ences mair than twenty-three years syne, an’ I hinna 
forgotten it yet. Bless ma heart, Thomas, it’s near 
twelve o’clock, an’ yer dochter Mysie’s tae be at 
her wark at the Minister’s by six in the mornin’ ; 
it’ll no’ dae tae keep her oot o’ bed langer.” 

Mysie had been a very interested listener, and 
when she fell asleep that night, she dreamed of Glas- 
gow and its wonders, and saw Mrs. McNeish leap 
into a lake of fire and brimstone, clasping David 
Todd in her arms, while her Aunt and Sandy 
McNeish danced the Highland fling on the brink. 


CHAPTER XIV. 

A WINDFALL. 

M rs. maxwell had been complaining for 
several days, and her friend, Mrs. Brown, had 
administered to her welfare with untiring zeal. 
Mrs. Brown, not escaping the general criticism, was 
said to be parsimonious, and several stories, illustra- 
tive of certain alleged acts of pecuniary meanness, 
were told to her discredit. It is true that Mrs. 
Brown was not over-provided with worldly gear, — 
in short, she was comparatively poor, but eminently 


130 


DAVID TODD. 


genteel, and it is also true that Crosscairn was quite 
capable of invention in the way of falsehood. Be- 
tween these two facts it is not strange that there was 
a current report to the effect that Mrs. Brown, 
while administering to the wants of indisposed Mrs. 
Maxwell, had a modest eye upon Mrs. Maxwell’s 
money. Attention goes a long way with an old lady 
who has separated herself from her kindred, and a 
cup of jam presented at the proper moment under 
certain conditions may be a bait capable of catching 
a fortune. 

Mrs. Brown, as a fact deserving notice, aside from 
Crosscairn gossip, was particularly attentive to the 
old lady every time she was physically afflicted; 
indeed, the old lady’s symptoms might have been 
noted, as improving or growing more serious, by 
the course of Mrs. Brown’s attentions, — thus: 
choice tid-bits at frequent and unusual hours, be- 
ing interpreted, meant considerable indisposition; 
gifts of somewhat expensive or rare delicacies, with 
continued proffers of service, — symptoms serious 
and alarming; high time to make a will, or to prop- 
erly re-adjust one. 

Mrs. Maxwell had complained many times in her 
long life, but continuing to complain persistently at 
this time, and being beset by Mrs. Brown’s atten- 
tions, she sent for the Minister and confided to him 
her belief that she had not long to live. 

“My dear Mr. Todd,” she said, “as you know, 
I am in declining health. Dr. Cameron has told me 
that I cannot live many months. My trouble has 


A WINDFALL. 


13 ^ 

been one of years, and while it has been surely 
growing upon me, its final effect has been postponed 
only. The crisis cannot now be much longer de- 
layed, and the doctor says I must be prepared for 
the ‘final result, which may come at any time. For 
the past year, as you are aware, I have suffered fre- 
quently, and knowing that at any time I might be 
called away, I have not neglected to put everything 
in order as to a proper disposal of my worldly es- 
tate. Some months since I summoned my legal 
adviser, who, in the presence of witnesses, drew my 
will. I had reason at that time for not speaking to 
you upon the subject, but I have called you to-day, 
having received intimation which I cannot disre- 
gard that my days are numbered. Before it is too 
late I wish to talk with you in regard to what my 
will contains, particularly as to one clause or pro- 
vision. 

“You remember, I told you at one time about my 
Uncle Peter and the legacy left me under certain 
conditions. In three months from the present time, 
that legacy will be administered in my favor under 
the conditions, but I fear that I cannot live till that 
time; nevertheless I am not disturbed at the pros- 
pect. 

“By rny will, I have bequeathed to you, my dear 
Mr. Todd, all right and possession therein. It is 
needless to protest : to avoid protestation on your 
part I had the will so drawn, without your knowl- 
edge. I have done this, my dear Mr. Todd, 
through a deep regard for you as a friend and coun- 


DAVID TODD. 


132 

selor, and a sincere reverence for your worth as an 
exemplary man. You perhaps wonder why my own 
kindred are not mentioned as beneficiaries; there 
are various reasons: They do not need my help; 
they already have too much for their good, luxury 
and worldly pride I could not encourage, and god- 
less indifference and blasphemy I have no desire to 
reward. Of course, I have divided my own per- 
sonal means aside from this, variously, giving to 
private individuals and the church in varying 
amounts; but the legacy which Uncle Peter left 
subject to so many years’ delay and such strange 
conditions, I have given wholly to you. It will be, 
in the event of my death before its settlement, placed 
in your hands to be yours without condition or 
restriction. If I live to receive the inheritance my- 
self, my will provides that the amount received 
through the legacy will be paid to you out of my 
estate thus enlarged, whenever my death may 
occur.” 

After a protracted conversation, in which David 
Todd showed the gratitude he felt in being thus 
munificently remembered, which he showed as he 
knew how to show it, by an earnest manner and ap- 
propriate words few in number (for the Minister 
was never verbose or fulsome), the legal details of 
the matter were discussed at length. The interview 
then took a more general turn, and ended in the 
discussion of spiritual matters, and Mr. Todd went 
home so soberly that no one would have known he 
had been suddenly made heir to a large fortune. 


TROUBLE AT DALMELINGTON. 133 

Mrs. Maxwell still continuing to complain, Mrs. 
Brown's attentions began to be prophetic of serious 
things. Dr. Cameron called day after day, and the 
Minister was a frequent visitor. 

Still later Mrs. Brown’s solicitude for the comfort 
of her boarder became particularly noticeable, and 
she tempted Mrs. Maxwell with her rarest delica- 
cies, denying herself sleep and giving her service 
without stint. In the midst of these circumstances, 
word came to the Minister that Mrs. Maxwell had 
succumbed to her troubles and entered into rest. 

Mrs. Brown found, thereafter, that Mrs. Max- 
well had not forgotten her; though the bulk of the 
old lady’s fortune had been divided, not as Mrs. 
Brown could have desired. She sighed and said : 

“Weel, I’ll get credit in heaven for sleepless nights 
and a world o’ trouble, not to speak o’ seven jars o’ 
jam, fit for a queen, spoiled in the breaking, and 
two solid silver spoons o’ my grandmother’s ruined 
by Cameron’s drugs; but I’ll wager the Minister 
has been weel paid in hard money for a’ the free 
salvation he has given the auld lady.” 


CHAPTER XV. 

TROUBLE AT DALMELINGTON. 

S QUIRE AMPHLETT, on his return from Edin- 
burgh, was attacked by two women, who fired a 
broadside of small shot at him in the matter of ques- 
tions. To his protestations, they answered by a 


i34 


DAVID TODD, 


renewed and yet more scattering fire, and finally, 
when they found the enemy doggedly maintaining 
his position, they changed their tactics and took 
more deliberate aim, waiting to know the result of 
each shot before firing another. In other words, 
when Miss Edith and Grace had found that only 
one question could be answered at a time, the 
Squire had collected his senses, lost in the first 
shock, and was ready to answer. 

Did he know the Minister had broached the sub- 
ject of marriage with Grace? 

He was not surprised to hear it. 

Had the Minister talked to him about the matter? 

Yes, he had. 

Often? 

No. 

Had the Minister asked consent to propose to 
Grace? 

He had. 

Had he given his consent? 

Yes. 

Why? 

Because he had no reason to deny it. 

“But,” said Grace, “you had no reason to give 
it.” 

“Mr. Todd is a worthy man,” said the Squire. 

Miss Edith here opined that “there were other 
worthy men in the world.” 

The Squire assented, but presented another 
quality of desirability, viz., long friendship. 

Miss Edith named a respectable bachelor octoge- 


TROUBLE A T DALMELINGTON. 135 

narian who had been a schoolmate of Grace’s 
grandfather, and advanced his claims to the Squire’s 
attention on the same grounds of ancient friend- 
ship. 

The Squire, somewhat choleric, suggested that 
the antiquated individual just alluded to would re- 
ceive his hearty consent to a proposed alliance with 
a certain maiden relative of his. 

At this point Miss Edith drew comparison be- 
tween the spirit of the Squire’s last remark and that 
of the original cause of the present trouble, and 
found a distinction only, without a difference. 

The Squire, turning questioner, asked if the Min- 
ister’s social standing was not high enough. 

The ladies had no fault to find with it. 

Was not Mr. Todd a man of talents and charac- 
ter to command respect, at least? 

The ladies thought he was. 

“Then,” said the Squire, “there is nothing 
strange about the matter which so excited you.” 

Aunt Edith still thought that there was, and be- 
gan to define her position, but Grace spiritedly in- 
terrupted, and figuratively threw a bomb at her 
father, which silenced him and ended the interview. 
Said Grace: “It is needless to multiply words upon 
the subject; the matter is at present of no conse- 
quence and has been disposed of as to the future. 
Mr. Todd has asked me to be his wife, and I have 
emphatically and conclusively answered him that 
such a thing can never be.” 

The Squire started, and a seriously troubled ex- 


136 


DAVID TODD. 


pression came over his features; he said nothing 
more, but turning away left the room. 

After he had gone Miss Edith took up the sub- 
ject anew. “There is more mystery about this 
affair now than there was before,” she said, “and 
your father knows more than he tells. We are both 
at fault for flying at him as we did, demanding his 
reasons and ridiculing his position in the matter. 
In place of giving his action the consideration it 
deserved, we have antagonized him by words which 
have provoked him. Brother is too fond of you, 
Grace, to do anything which would be to your dis- 
advantage, and yet we have, I fear, treated him, in 
our eagerness to know the details of this affair, in a 
manner which implies to him that we both have lit- 
tle confidence in either his love or judgment. I think 
we owe him an apology. Besides, dear Grace, we 
both know him well enough to be assured that tak- 
ing such a course with him will only keep us in igno- 
rance of what is undoubtedly hidden from us in the 
matter. Your father is evidently in love with Mr. 
Todd, if you are not; there is nothing strange in 
that, for he has always thought highly of him; there 
is nothing particularly strange in the Minister’s 
love for you, or even in the fact of his proposal; 
but there is a suddenness about it which is, to say 
the least, peculiar, though that may be accounted 
for by the Minister’s usual quiet but deliberate way 
of proceeding. Besides, whatever his heart may be, 
and I do not doubt its sincerity, the Minister is not 
an adept at love-making. These things we will 


TROUBLE AT DALMELINGTON, 


137 


allow, and yet your father’s course of conduct seems 
strained and strange, as though he had been party 
to a covert compact. This may be fancy only, and 
yet it seems belief. We must change our tactics if 
we would know more and get at the root of the 
matter.” 

Grace rather haughtily said, “It is a matter of 
indifference to me. Aunt Edith,” but relenting im- 
mediately, she ’continued, “and yet, as you say, 
father’s course has undoubtedly been strange. Of 
course, in my interest in all that relates to him, I 
am anxious to know his motives and thoughts. 
Perhaps we have not treated him with proper con- 
sideration, for I know I was provoked and angry, 
but he knows I love him dearly, and would not 
purposely offend him.” 

“Well,” said Aunt Edith, “we can assure him of 
our love, and in doing that, it will not be amiss to 
find out more than we now know, for I am assured 
this affair is not of an ordinary nature.” 

So the conversation closed ; but Aunt Edith had 
not long to wait before the mysteries of the Squire’s 
actions were cleared up. 

During that same day Bessie Dickie came with a 
curtsey to Miss Edith and told her that Squire 
Amphlett desired to see her alone in his room. Miss 
Edith hastily brushed from her mind any remnant 
of feeling remaining since the last interview with the 
Squire, and with her accustomed smile and an inten- 
tion of propitiating matters, went to the Squire’s 
room. 


138 


DAVID TODD. 


The Squire was seated at his desk bus.y with his 
papers, and when Miss Edith entered he looked 
more serious than before. At her entrance he said 
calmly, with the tone of a man who had resigned 
himself to disagreeable circumstances : 

“Edith, I have some important news to give you,” 
and rising walked to the door and turned the key 
in the lock. Then resuming his seat he turned to 
his sister and said abruptly : 

“Edith, I am a bankrupt.” 

Miss Edith gave an exclamation of anxious and 
inquiring surprise, as though the words, while they 
conveyed a serious meaning, held her in indefinite 
suspense. 

The Squire continued: “It is needless to keep a 
secret from you which you will only too soon know. 
I am a bankrupt.” 

Miss Edith looked toward him as though not yet 
comprehending his words, but seeing in his face a 
deep trouble and a desperate calmness which had 
settled there, now that his secret was no longer to 
be hidden, she felt the force of his abrupt assertion 
as an undefined and therefore more dreaded calamity, 
and eagerly she asked: 

“What can you mean, dear brother ; explain your- 
self more fully, I know some great trouble is com- 
ing to us, but tell me all.” 

“I mean,” said the Squire bitterly, “I am a beg- 
gar, — a penniless, ruined man.” 

“Not a beggar, dear brother, so long as Grace 
and myself have the love and the means to help you 


TROUBLE A T DALMELlNGTON, 139 

in misfortune,” said Miss Edith, with tears of gentle 
sympathy in her eyes. 

At these words the Squire's face softened in its 
hard lines, but another phase of trouble was written 
there, portraying more keenly a greater anguish. 
He bowed his head in his hands as though humili- 
ated, and said : 

“Not only am I a bankrupt and a beggar, but 
disgraced in having abused my trusts. I have 
brought both you and Grace down with me to my 
own condition. We are all beggars. You have 
no means. The fortune held for my daughter 
is lost, and Dalmelington is in pawn, not to be 
redeemed.” 

Miss Edith clasped her hands in a despairing 
gesture and was about to speak, when the Squire 
interrupted her. “Do not reproach me, Sister 
Edith ; spare me, I entreat you. I deserve your 
curses and my daughter's, I know, but spare me. 
For weeks I have suffered all the reproach you can 
heap upon me; through many dark hours I have 
listened to my own conscience upbraiding and tor- 
turing me as you, who are wronged, can never re- 
proach me. I know what I have done to its fullest 
extent, and I curse myself for my folly and abuse 
of trust. I despise myself as a creature dishonored, 
and yet I know you will believe me when I say, my 
motives were good and my whole course through 
these misfortunes has been that of a man who, in 
making a mistake through bad judgment, tried to 
correct his mistake and made a greater one.” 


140 


DAVID TODD. 


As the Squire spoke Miss Edith arose, and when 
he had ended she placed her arms about his neck 
so gently and lovingly that he could not restrain his 
tears. 

“We shall not upbraid you,” she said. “We 
have no reproaches for you. Whatever misfortune 
has come, or whatever trials and sacrifices may yet 
come, however we may feel the calamity which your 
unfortunate ventures have brought upon us, our 
love and duty shall always stand in the stead of re- 
proach. Being assured of that, is there not yet 
some way by which these misfortunes may be set 
aside or mitigated? It cannot be that everything 
is irretrievably lost.” 

“Yes, all is lost,” he answered. “We cannot 
stay at Dalmelington for more than a short time at 
best, and then we must go, I know not where. We 
are beggars, cast homeless upon the mercy of the 
world.” 

As the Squire spoke in the intensity of his feel- 
ings and drew so dark a picture of the future, Miss 
Edith wept as she never had before, and felt the 
burden of trouble bearing heavily upon her. “Is 
there no hope?” she sobbed, “a chance by which 
this ill fortune may be averted?” 

“None,” answered the Squire. “There was a 
hope and a way of escape from trouble, but that 
hope exists no longer.” 

“What was it, brother?” Miss Edith asked eager- 
ly, visibly brightening through her tears. “It may 
yet alter circumstances ; we will not give it up^ we 


TRO UBLE A T DALMELINGTON. 141 

must avert this awful destiny. Was your hope in a 
friend ? ’ ’ 

'‘It was.” 

“What friend?” 

“Mr. Todd.” 

“Mr. Todd!” Aunt Edith began to see some 
connection between the Minister’s proposal and the 
present situation. 

“Mr. Todd,” she said, after her first surprise, 
“has no means to save us even if he had the will.” 

“He has a prospective fortune of many thousand 
pounds.” 

“Strange!” said Miss Edith, “this is not gener- 
ally known. ” 

“No” answered the Squire. “I tell it to you in 
confidence, as there was a tacit understanding that 
it should not be reported. There were but five per- 
sons who knew it : the maker of the will bequeath- 
ing it, the lawyers who drew the will, the wit- 
nesses, — I am one of them. The Minister himself 
did not know it, a month since, but that is irrele- 
vant ; it only brings me to a disclosure, I have not 
yet mentioned among the list of our troubles. Mr. 
Todd, who has been so summarily dealt with, at 
present holds my notes for the payment of all of his 
private means, which have been advanced to me, 
aside from his expectations, and this, with the loss 
of our own possessions and several other large per- 
sonal obligations, makes up the extent of my disas- 
trous speculations.” 

Aunt Edith now saw very clearly the additional 


143 


DAVID TODD. 


qualifications beside personal worth and long friend- 
ship which induced Squire Amphlett so readily to 
give his consent to the Minister’s wooing. 

It was a long interview brother and sister had, 
locked alone in the Squire’s room, and when it had 
ended, Aunt Edith saw, in the Minister, the same 
hope of deliverance from the adversity of the hour, 
which the Squire had seen at an earlier date. 


CHAPTER XVI 


GRACE AND HER FATHER. 



ITH many tears Aunt Edith confided to Grace 


VV the story of their misfortune. “If it had 
been that your father’s ventures had taken from us 
a part only,” said she, “or even, if all our posses- 
sions were hazarded in a speculation where the 
chances of losing all or recovering all were equal, 
there might be left to us at least the encouragement 
of hope, but alas! everything is irretrievably lost. 
In the efforts your father has made from time to 
time to recover his first, and then his successive 
losses, everything has been swept away beyond re- 
covery. The accumulation of years, gathered by 
your f^ather’s business transactions, where before he 
had been successful, the considerable property of 
mine, which he held for me, the fortune in his 
hands which he held in trust for you, my poor girl, 
all these are lost, even our home. Dalmelington, 
where you were born, and where we have lived so 
many happy years, is forfeited. 


GRACE AND HER EA THER, 143 

“It IS only too true, as your father has told me, 
that we are in absolute poverty. We have no longer 
a home, no money, no resources whatever, and noth- 
ing remains for us but to leave this place and begin 
life anew in poverty and sorrow, in some unknown 
place, heaven only knows where. I would gladly 
spare you, my poor, dear Grace, the sorrows which 
such a picture brings, but it is impossible to hide 
from you the inevitable result. It will come too 
soon ; already we are dependent and living under a 
roof that is no longer ours. For a long time this 
ruin has been steadily coming to us. If you ask 
why we were not made acquainted with it before it 
culminated in hopeless disaster, I can only answer, 
that your father's first losses were such that he hoped 
to regain them by further ventures; with this 
thought, he kept his trouble to himself, and as new 
endeavors to reclaim that already lost proved fail- 
ures, he still kept his secret to himself, and only 
when all resource was at an end and complete ruin 
came, he told his story as a desperate and humili- 
ated man with no other alternative." 

Grace, blanched with the shock of her aunt’s 
disclosures, and shedding bitter tears at the pros- 
pect presented in her aunt’s tearful and truthful 
recital, was fain to look anxiously about for some 
gleam of light that might brighten this dark picture. 

‘‘There must be some hope, some way out of this 
awful darkness. Father has friends, who can and 
will help him,’’ she said eagerly. 

“Your father’s friends, alas, Grace, our friends, 


144 


DAVID TODD, 


are already involved. Not only are we ruined, but 
others have suffered. All that can be done has 
been done, and what is harder to bear than all else, 
harder than the loss of fortune and home, is the 
loss of reputation, for through these same friends 
your father’s good name is at stake. He has lost 
not only his means and ours; but theirs also. It is 
true, they yet trust him, but that is because they do 
not yet know the truth. All the security by which 
he accomplished his loans has become worthless, 
and this must soon be known to them; then, not 
only poverty, but disgrace, must be ours.” 

Aunt Edith and Grace, in a flood of tears, pon- 
dered this situation in heartbroken humiliation. 

“Some time ago,” resumed Aunt Edith, wiping 
her eyes and looking away from Grace, who sat 
with her hands clasped and her face wet and 
flushed in sorrow and shame, “your father having 
received a large loan from Mr. Todd — ” 

Grace started in surprise and looked at Aunt 
Edith in alarm. 

“From Mr. Todd!” she exclaimed, “Mr. Todd 
of Crosscairn ! ” 

“Yes, from the Minister, David Todd; — having 
received a loan from him and being at that time 
privately aware of a very large fortune which was 
to come into Mr. Todd’s possession, your father 
began to cherish a hope of deliverance from his 
troubles, in the knowledge that Mr. Todd had de- 
sired a matrimonial alliance with you.” 

Grace arose, and catching the back of her chair 


GRACE AND HER RATHER. MS 

leaned forward in a breathless attitude of listening, 
while Aunt Edith continued : 

“Long before your father’s business embarrass- 
ments became serious, your father out of a deep and 
sincere regard for Mr. Todd had given him his con- 
sent to a union with you, leaving Mr. Todd to take 
his own time and manner of proceeding in the mat- 
ter. Your father’s first direct step in this affair, 
and indeed his only one, for he was absent during 
the interim following, was taken when, after a con- 
versation with the Minister in regard to accumulat- 
ing troubles, he suggested the matter to me in the 
manner you already know. Your father had never 
doubted your acceptance of Mr. Todd after the 
fact of his consent to the proposal, and consequently 
he left home believing that in such a matrimonial 
event he might yet be delivered from the ruin im- 
pending. With this thought, he felt in a measure 
at ease during his absence; but your recent words, 
in which he first learned that you had decidedly re- 
fused to consent to any alliance with Mr. Todd, 
took from him the last and only hope left. It was 
your words which brought about the confession of 
our present circumstances.’’ 

Grace, pale and excited, comprehended in her 
aunt’s words the reality of present circumstances, 
and saw clearly that through the Minister the fate 
of the present might be put aside: and comprehend- 
ing this, she realized the position in which she was 
placed, as the holder of the destinies of those she 
loved. As this realization flashed across her mind 


146 


DAVID TODD. 


she grew sick at heart, and clasping her hands in 
passionate despair she sank into her chair and 
sobbed piteously. 

“My own dear Grace, “ Aunt Edith said sooth- 
ingly, with all the gentle sympathy she felt. “Your 
heart has made its choice, and in it you may be 
happy, even under the present adversity. Let no 
thought enter your mind that the love of your father 
for his daughter, or his interest in her happiness, 
can be influenced by any sordid consideration. 
Consult your own happiness, my child, and in your 
happiness those who love you will be made happier, 
although their lot may be humble and sad. The 
decree that makes us poor, and, it may be, puts upon 
us the stigma of disgrace, cannot be changed. It 
is a change in fortune and station and reputation 
which must be borne, and we will accept the life 
which awaits us uncomplainingly. Go to your 
father, Grace,, and tell him all. Tell him of the 
love and devotion you bear him in his trouble, for 
he has need of a loving daughter now. Do not re- 
proach him, but express to him your desire to share 
his ill-fortune bravely and to comfort him ; tell him 
your heart’s secret, which he does not yet know; 
rely upon it he will be made happier in this, his 
darkest hour, by the knowledge that there is at least 
something left to you, in which you may find happi- 
ness, — in the love you cherish for John Hopson.” 

That night Grace Amphlett, with a sad heart, sat 
through dreary hours in the quiet of her own apart- 
ment thinking, and as the gentle passion of love for 


GRACE AND HER FATHER. 


U7 


him her whole heart was wedded to contended with 
natural affection and duty in her father’s unfortu- 
nate situation, she wept in her despair and struggled 
to answer the problem which tortured her. “Oh, 
my father, my poor, unfortunate father,” she cried, 
communing alone with her heart, “I love you, and 
I will make any sacrifice to show my love. What 
is my happiness to the debt I owe to you for all 
your love and care? I was left to you to be your 
comfort and joy when my mother was laid in the 
grave. I was left to you to love you as she would 
have loved, and to help and comfort you as she 
would have helped and comforted you. I would 
be unworthy of you and her if I could forget my 
duty to you in this your time of trouble. If deliver- 
ance from trouble and disgrace can come through 
any act of mine, I am ready at your bidding to act. 
I know the path before me, and I am ready to walk 
in it.” 

At last her poor distracted heart resolved upon 
its purpose, and grew calm in the contemplation of 
its resolve; yet like a martyr chained to the stake 
and upheld by a consciousness of right, it could 
not but look toward the happiness that might have 
been, and feel strong and yearning impulses arising 
to shake its resolution and disturb its resignation. 

In the thoughts and feelings that now came to her, 
despite her resolve she was sorely distracted and 
unhappy, and thinking brought to her such anguish 
and despair that reason seemed about to desert her. 
What of John Hopson now? With a love so pure 


148 DAVID rODD. 

and deep and certain for him that life was not worth 
living without him ; after a few hours of the purest 
happiness she had ever known, at the time when 
life in all its brightness of hope and joy had opened 
before her its fairest prospect, with the confession 
of love singing like a bird in her heart and the 
kisses of her lover upon her lips, a blackness, a 
doom, a destiny had come that had broken her 
heart. Would not his heart break too? She could 
not bear the thought, nor could she drive it from 
her; it haunted her and pursued her, and in her 
anguish and grief she dreaded to think of him who 
a few hours before had occupied her mind solely, 
and made her every thought a joy unspeakable. 

There was but one course she could pursue, and 
that she resolved upon with many bitter tears. 
She was brave, she could sacrifice much, she could 
even sacrifice the man she loved, but she could not 
meet him face to face and tell him of her purpose. 
She feared her own weakness, yet she was strong, 
but not strong enough to stand before him and still 
declare her purpose unshaken. There was no way 
but one. She would refuse to see him. What 
would he think? — It mattered not — there was no 
other way. In time she might meet him, but not 
now. In time he would not seek to meet her under 
the conditions which would so surely exist. 

In the morning she went to her father and found 
him haggard and broken. It made her heart yearn 
in love and sympathy to see him in his hopelessness 
and humiliation. The self-reliant man, the father 


GRACE AND HER FATHER. 140 

of noble bearing was no longer; instead, she saw 
an anxious, careworn man with the deep traces his 
troubles had left upon him, so eloquent in his 
bowed form, his whitening hair, and his subdued 
and humiliated manner, that her warm heart went 
out to him, and with a cry of love and sympathy, 
deep and intense, she threw her arms about his 
neck and sobbed in the sincerity of her devotion 
and tenderness: 

“My dear, dear father, I know your troubles and 
I have come to you to lighten them. You have a 
daughter to love you and stand by your side.” 

“My dear child, I have never doubted your love; 
I would be poor indeed without a daughter’s love to- 
day, for everything else is lost to me.” 

“Aunt Edith has told me all, dear father; but do 
not despair. ” 

“Despair is but natural when there is no hope of 
deliverance,” said Squire Amphlett sadly. “It is my 
solicitude for y{?ur happiness, my child, that adds 
keenness to my despair.” He bowed his head and 
murmured: “There is now no hope; for you have 
already cast him aside who would have delivered us, 
and I — I love my child too well to dictate against 
her own heart. ” 

Grace pressed her face to her father’s, and as his 
words of hopelessness lingered in her ear, her heart 
told her that the supreme moment of sacrifice had 
come, that the struggle within was to be decided at 
once. 

There was only a gentle sadness in her voice as 


DAVID TODD. 


ISO 

she whispered: “My dear father, forgive me the 
hastily spoken words of yesterday; I did not know 
what trouble had come upon you. I have come to 
tell you that I trust in your love and wisdom, and 
will be guided by you in all things. “ 

“My daughter, my noble, generous daughter,” 
said Squire Amphlett, deeply moved; “your love 
is everything to me, more than fortune or reinstated 
station; your happiness is my most anxious thought. 
I would not have you sacrifice yourself, or forfeit 
aught that would bring you happiness, but in an 
alliance with Mr. Todd, as your Aunt Edith has 
undoubtedly told you, lies our only hope, lies your 
future well-being. If Mr. Todd were not the high- 
minded gentleman he is, if there were a blot upon 
his life or character, if he were not the noble man 
I know him to be, I would meet misfortune and 
public reproach willingly rather than sacrifice your 
honor or happiness in sanctioning such an alliance. 
It may be that you do not love him, but I know 
you respect him. Your refusal, my dear Grace, 
can only be a matter founded upon present dis- 
taste, which must be brief at the most, for you will 
learn to love him as a gentleman worthy of you.“ 
Grace, pressing her lips to her father’s face, wept 
quietly, and said in a sad and low voice: 

“Yes, father, yes, you are right. Mr. Todd is 
deserving of all the respect I can give him ; he is 
a worthy man and a true friend who will save us all 
from the evil fortune that surrounds us,” and as she 
spoke her heart was crushed and silenced within 


A LITTLE CHAT, 


151 

her, and her mind was distraught with crowding 
thoughts which she feared might express themselves 
and divulge to her father a secret which she resolved 
in her love and duty and sacrifice he should not 
know by any word* of hers. Thus Grace Amphlett 
laid her heart a sacrifice upon the altar of filial love 
and duty, and for her father’s comfort and honor 
destroyed her own happiness. 

So she resolved, and hiding the intensity of her 
heart’s sorrow beneath a forced and partial calm- 
ness, she confided to Aunt Edith her purpose, and 
exacted her co-operation in the course she had de- 
termined to follow; at the same time she enjoined 
upon that protesting and tearful lady a continuance 
of the secrecy she had kept before her father, re- 
garding any mention of John Hopson, or his love 
and hers. 


CHAPTER XVII. 

A LITTLE CHAT. 

I T had been a dull, rainy day. Looking from the 
front window of the Manse Mr. Todd had seen 
the rain pouring continually. He had watched it 
falling steadily in slanting lines, and again in the 
changing gusts of wind, driving its spray in con- 
flict and confusion ; he had watched the great drops 
as they fell pattering upon the hard road, or dimp- 
ling the surface 01 the accumulating pools; he had 
watched it as it dripped from the limp and dejected 
vines, trembling near his window, and as it fell 


152 


DAVID TODD. 


noiselessly upon the splashy and sodden grass ; he 
had watched it in a muddy torrent, racing down the 
Kirk Brae, and he had seen it spattering and splash- 
ing his parishioners, as they dodged hither and 
thither and hurried along the street, and he had 
looked dreamily out to the west and seen the sea 
rolling in a monotonous swell and lying in a bleak 
level stretch of leaden expanse far out to the black 
and lowering horizon. The prospect had not been 
a pleasant one, and in any way in which he had 
contemplated it he had found it monotonous and 
cheerless. 

Many times during the day he had turned away 
from the dreary view and gone back to his writing- 
table, to sit with his elbows thereon, and to bury his 
face in his hands. He had several times arisen in a 
nervous impulse to leave the house, but when he 
looked at the angry clouds rolling in from the sea, 
and heard the rain dashing at his window-pane, at 
every gust of wind, he had hesitated,— and so the 
day passed. 

His writing materials were spread upon the table 
and his books were beside him, but what he had 
attempted in writing did not exceed a sheet, and 
his reading had been desultory and of a very unsat- 
isfactory character. So the dull hours of the day 
went by, and the early evening had set in. 

Now, in the dusk of his room, he stood drearily 
enough, with his hands nervously clasped, looking 
down the Kirk Brae. What his thoughts were, his 
features did not tell, but they were not of a cheerful 


A LITTLE CHAT. 


IS3 

nature, for he sighed and turned wearily away, pass- 
ing his hand over his forehead, as though he would 
brush from his mind some thought that lay there 
heavy and sad. 

Looking at David Todd as he stood in his fast- 
darkening room, peering out at the storm, it was 
apparent that the gloom of the day was upon him, 
and that the rain was falling in his life. He might 
have had the thought of the then unwritten lines 
passing in his mind : 

** My life is cold and dark and dreary, 

It rains and the wind is never weary, 

My thoughts still cling to the moldering past 
And the hopes of my youth fall thick in the blast, 

And my life is dark and dreary.*' 

So dejected was David Todd, standing at his 
window, that had little Mysie McGill beheld him, 
she would have dropped a tear for him, and seen 
him, in her simple vision, as a sorrowing Deity be- 
moaning the fallen condition of man. 

Mrs. McNeish, not satisfied with the storm with- 
out, had instituted a storm within, so that Sandy 
had been fain to seek shelter from it, by going out 
to meet the kinder elements. True, he had received 
a soaking to the skin, but a protracted visit to the 
Black Bull had dried him outwardly and warmed 
him inwardly. 

As for Mysie (to use an old and, in this case, 
very appropriate adage), she had been “between 
the devil and the deep sea” all day, and had suf- 


DAVID TODD, 


IS4 

fered without hope of deliverance. Although she 
had wrought from early morning and done all the 
drudgery put upon her, she had failed to please 
Mrs. McNeish, and at dusk, tired and sore from the 
rigors of the day, and wrought into a nervous condi- 
tion that made her tremble at every turn, was de- 
nounced by her mistress as a “lazy wee cuttie." 

The storm, however, abated. — that is, the storm 
in the kitchen, when Mrs. McNeish attired herself 
and went forth in the rain to visit an acquaintance. 

Then little Mysie sat down and forgot the horrors 
of the day in quiet thoughts of home. 

She had been resting thus for a short time when 
she heard a quiet step upon the stair leading 
from the upper rooms, and was surprised to see her 
reverend master make his appearance in the kitchen. 
This was somewhat unusual, for Mr. Todd rarely 
entered this domain. Mysie arose hastily at his 
approach, and was about to leave the august pres- 
ence and ascend to her attic, when the Minister, in 
a kindly voice, addressed her: 

“Well, Mysie, were you resting after your day’s 
work.?’’ 

“Aye, sir,’’ answered Mysie, trembling in embar- 
rassment at the thought of being alone in such a 
presence, yet being touched by the first kind words 
of the day. 

“Sit down, my little lass,’’ said the Minister. 
“You need not go because I am here, for I have 
been lonely myself to-day sitting in my room?’’ 

Here was a confession from the Minister, a 


A LITTLE CHAT, 


ISS 


glimpse into his feelings, given by himself. David 
Todd, after all, was not so shady as he seemed to be. 

“Oh, sir, I was na vera lonely,” said Mysie, 
greatly reassured by his kind tone. “I had my 
thoughts tae keep me company, an' I was na vera 
lonely, sir.” 

“Do you know, my little lass, it was my thoughts 
that made me lonely,” said the Minister. 

Here was another confession from his reverence. 
What next ? Surely the gloom of the day had 
changed David Todd wonderfully. 

“What were you thinking of, little lass?” 

‘T was thinkin’ o’ the folk at hame, sir,” Mysie 
answered meekly. 

Suppose she should turn questioner and ask the 
same question, what would be the Minister’s reply? 
Would he tell her how he had, with his face buried 
in his hands, turned his mental vision back upon 
the past and called up hopes, purposes and phantom 
pictures, pictures his thoughts had drawn so often 
that they were as realities, all centering about one 
fair face and form, which were before him always? 
Would he tell her how, as he stood through the day, 
looking out to the sea, and the storm coming up 
from its dismal lair, he had gazed into the future 
and seen a waste of solitude, lowering skies, and 
rain falling ceaselessly and cheerlessly? Would he 
tell her that these diverse pictures were continually 
before him, alternating and contrasting always? 
Mysie could not make bold enough to propound 
such a query. 


15^ 


DAVID TODD. 


The Minister was slowly walking up and down 
the room with his Hands behind him, and now he 
asked Mysie to tell him of her home and her people. 
Said he : 

*T will stay with you till Mrs. McNeish returns, 
and you may talk to me about your home.” 

Mysie was embarrassed but pleased, and thanked 
him. So a conversation between this oddly assorted 
pair began. 

“I was thinkin’ o’ the visit o’ ma aunt, short 
syne. She cam’ frae Glasgow tae see us, an’ we a’ 
enjoyed her visit. Fayther hadna’ seen his sister 
for ower twenty years.” 

“I suppose your aunt told you much of the great 
city of Glasgow.” 

”Oh aye, sir, we sat up vera late listening to 
a’ she had tae tell o’ her experiences at service 
there.” 

“She had much of interest to tell you, I have no 
doubt.” 

“There was ae story, sir, she tauld us, which was 
a vera pitifu’ ane. ” 

“I should like to hear it. Can you tell it to 
me?” said the Minister. 

“Oh, aye, for I’ve thoucht aboot it a’ this day, 
perhaps because it has been a day o’ rain, an’ 
mak’s ane think o’ sad things.” 

“You’re a wise little lass, — but the story, I would 
like to hear it. ” 

“It was aboot a puir young man an’ his wife wha 
ma aunt was at service wi’, mair than twenty years 


A LITTLE CHAT, 


157 


syne. The young man was a doctor wi’ vera little 
practice, an* he died wi’ a fever in the hospital, an’ 
oh, but his puir wife was sair heart-broken.” 

“That was sad, but her friends no doubt were 
good to her in her trouble,” said the Minister com- 
passionately. 

”Na, that’s the warst o’ it, she had nae frien’s 
at a’.” 

“No friends! that was indeed sad.” 

‘‘Aye, it was, sir. The puir woman tauld ma 
aunt that she hadna a frien’ in a’ the wide warld, 
but that was no’ the warst o’ the story. Six weeks 
after her husband dee’d, she went oot wi’ her wee 
bairn, a wee laddie no’ a year auld, and jumpit into 
the water wi’ the bairn in her airms. They were 
baith ta’en frae the water; but the mither was 
drooned. The wee laddie was alive and was 
ta’en awa by the police officers an’ gi’en tae a 
gentleman wha had seen the mither drap into the 
water. ” 

“That was truly a sad story, and was it really a 
true one?” 

“Oh aye, forma aunt remembered weel the name 
o’ the doctor. She has a great memory, an’ can 
tell o’ things that happened years before that. I 
couldna’ keep the tears frae fa’ in’ when I heard 
that story, for it was sae mournfu’ a thing tae think 
o’ the puir man an’ his wife sae lanely, leevin with- 
oot frien’s in the great city, an’ dee’in there wi’ 
nane but strangers beside them. My aunt said the 
lady showed she had been weel broucht up, an’ as 


DAVID TODD. 


I5« 

for the man he was a doctor o’ learnin’, but hadna 
yet got into a practice.” 

The Minister seemed to be thinking of other 
things, when Mysie, coming to a pause, glanced up 
at him. He had stopped in his walk across the 
floor and his head was turned to one side, while his 
features were* expressive of one who is suddenly 
surprised and perplexed as his thoughts are turned 
back to associate uncertain ideas which have been 
suddenly awakened. 

In a moment, however, the Minister resumed his 
walk, and reassured Mysie by returning to the story 
with an interest that flattered Mysie exceedingly, 
although he wandered from the important facts 
of the story (so Mysie inwardly thought) to a dry 
detail. 

“What was the doctor’s name?” 

“Mysie answered: “It was a strange name, ane 
I never heard before, and I may na ha’e it a’the- 
gether richt, but I think he was ca’ed Dr. — Dr. — 
it’s just on the tip o’ ma tongue, it begins wi’ the 
letter R — ” 

“Rutherford,” suggested the Minister with an 
effort of memory, and with so much interest in his 
tone and manner that Mysie felt the contagion, and 
forgetting that the Minister was a great man in 
'Crosscairn and the Minister of the Kirk, ejaculated: 

“Yer richt! Ech, sirs, but ye’r guid at 
guessin’.” 

Then the Minister went back to the story, but he 
wandered immediately, and Mysie found herself an- 


THE MINISTER'S WEAK POINT. 159 

swering the question: “And pray, little lass, what 
is your aunt's name?” 

“It’s Mary McGill, sir; she’s fayther’s only 
sister.” 

“And is she still at service in Glasgow?” 

“Aye, sir, she has served for the last ten years in 
ae’ place.” 

“And where may that be?” asked the inquisitive 
Minister. 

“Wi’ Mr. Anderson, Draper, Jamaica Street, near 
the Broomelaw,” anwered Mysie, repeating the 
words as though dictating the address to a letter. 

The Minister listened attentively, after which he 
went back to the story again, and after that to other 
stories of Glasgow, and domestic matters interesting 
to Mysie. 

Mrs. McNeish’s step was heard approaching, and 
the Minister bade Mysie “Good-night” pleasantly, 
and ascended the stairs. AVhen he seated himself 
at his writing-table in his quiet room he took a 
memorandum book from his pocket and wrote the 
address: “Mary McGill, with Mr. Anderson, Dra- 
per, Jamaica Street, near the Broomelaw.” 

Then he sat thinking. 


CHAPTER XVIII. 

THE minister’s WEAK POINT. 

D avid TODD, after recording the name and 
address of Mary McGill, sat thinking. 
Recollections of Mrs. Maxwell’s .story of Peter 


i6o 


DAVID TODD. 


Craig’s wayward daughter and her marriage with 
the struggling young Doctor Rutherford, occupied 
his mind ; then the chance story, which the little 
drudge, in his own household, had told him with a 
childish purpose only, tied itself so closely to the 
narrative of Mrs. Maxwell, with its coincidences of 
time, circumstances, and name, that the Minister 
was prone to go further than the warrant of facts, 
and to speculate upon the subsequent history, which 
had been broken off and left hidden in darkness 
for years. 

Pondering these things, and impressed with the 
coincident sequence of the fragments of facts, 
gleaned by chance from widely different sources, 
the stronger became his belief that he had in his 
posession two separate and distinct links of one 
chain, which had been broken and separated through 
years, and which, by a strange and subtile combina- 
tion of circumstances, had come into his possession. 

Tracing the history of the young couple through 
the period covered by Mrs. Maxwell’s recital, and 
breaking off at that point where the disowned pair 
had left their kindred, to seek an unknown home 
elsewhere, he was able, by Mysie’s simple story, to 
follow them to Glasgow, to know their history there, 
and to follow each to the grave. But through them 
another life had come upon the scene : a child who, 
ignorant of its parents’ history, might still be living. 
As this thought came to the Minister, he found him- 
self involved personally in the history, and felt, in 
view of the legacy of Mrs. Maxwell through that of 


THE MINISTER'S WEAK POINT, i6l 

Uncle Peter Craig, that he was soon to be possessed 
of a fortune which he had no moral right to hold, 
even if his legal claim were good. The more the 
Minister thought of the matter, the deeper became 
his conviction that his suddenly acquired fortune 
might not be rightly his. He felt that there was 
but one proper course for him, and that, to ascer- 
tain the continuation of the history which he now 
knew in part. His course in the matter, as an hon- 
est man, could be no other than the investigating 
of the facts already narrated, and the discovery of 
subsquent facts leading to the identity of the orphan 
child left by the unfortunate parents. If that child 
lived, he would surrender the fortune he held, as 
an act of simple right and justice. 

At this point, the Minister’s thoughts turned to 
the effects such a course would entail. He was still 
aware, though he respected himself less for being 
conscious of the fact, that with the Squire’s pecun- 
iary troubles, with which he was almost wholly famil- 
iar, his chances for favor at Dalmelington were 
materially strengthened. The Minister, however, 
strove to put this thought aside as unworthy of him 
as a man of pure principles, but still clung to a 
doubt as to whether he might not, letting the affair 
drop where he had found it, do more good to his 
friends at Dalmelington by relieving their dis- 
tresses, than seeking out one who might be un- 
worthy in many respects to receive a fortune. It 
required, however, a great deal of decision of char- 
acter to come to a conclusion upon this point in 


i 62 


DAVID TODD. 


vi.ew of his interested position, but he decided at 
last. He would follow the history from the data 
given, and complete it without thought of its effect 
upon himself. 

With this resolve, and a purpose to enter at once 
upon the work of discovery, he retired to bed, to 
dream again, as he had often before, of Grace 
Amphlett, and to awake with a vague thought that 
he was justified in at least an apathy and procrasti- 
nation in his search for the real heir, if by that 
course he could win the hand of her whom he loved 
better than his own life. 

The next morning, while the Minister sat in his 
study, Mrs. McNeish announced a visitor: “Squire 
Amphlett.” 

The Squire was shown into the Minister’s room, 
the door was closed, and as the two sat together 
they held an interesting interview. 

‘T have lost everything,” said the Squire 
bluntly, “and there is no hope but one, and that is 
in you. I am a desperate man in a desperate strait, 
and I come to talk to you plainly. What before I 
would have approached with delicacy or shunned 
entirely, I am obliged now to speak of in the plain- 
est and most practical manner. As you have al- 
ready sought my daughter’s hand, and as I gave you 
my free consent to wed her, when she was the pos- 
sessor of ample means and you were not enriched 
as you now "are, — I allude to your prospective for- 
tune, — I come to you now, when the circumstances 
are reversed : my daughter being penniless and you 


THE MINISTER'S IVEAH POINT. 163 


having acquired a fortune, — to humiliate myself, and 
as a last resource of a ruined and unhappy father, 
to ask you plainly and urgently to forget the result 
of your late interview with my daughter. You must 
not consider her refusal as final; it means ruin to us 
all and disgrace to me in this community and before 
the world. 

“You will bear in mind, my dear friend,” con- 
tinued the Squire, with an evident desire to be as 
delicate in the matter as possible, “that my friend- 
ship, my regard for you existed before this trouble 
came. You will remember that I freely gave my 
consent to your proposal for my daughter’s hand, 
before my speculations proved disastrous ; you will 
not forget these things, as I speak plainly to you. 
As I said before, and let me repeat it, you must not 
consider my daughter’s refusal as final; she an- 
swered you in haste and will retract her words. If 
she does not love you, she respects you highly ; give 
her time, and she will learn to love you. She al- 
ready knows under what obligations we are to you, 
she knows that these obligations cannot be repaid, 
she is acquainted with the depth of trouble in which 
we are placed, and I know she would not refuse 
you again were you to solicit her hand. This is no 
time for over-sensitive delicacy. Do not refuse out 
of a generous feeling of dislike to wed her against 
her wishes, if you love her as you have said. It is 
true that her father’s troubles have changed her, 
and that she knows you have the power to rescue 
us all from this present calamity. You may ask: 


164 


DAVID TODD, 


Does she consent to marry you for this alone? I 
answer: Yes, it may be for this alone; but through 
this same circumstance, she will love you as a noble- 
hearted gentleman who loved her for herself, and 
gave his means to save her ruined father and to keep 
his daughter in her accustomed station, despite the 
decree that would make her a beggar.” 

The Minister listened to the impetuous words of 
the Squire. As he listened, the earnest, urgent 
spirit of the words, which placed Grace Amphlett in 
his keeping, thrilled him with an emotion of trans- 
port. He caught the spirit of the Squire’s ardor 
and in his mind there was but one thought: ‘‘She 
is mine, at last, nothing can take her from me. 
What have I to do with any other thought than that 
which gives her to me? It is a conventional deli- 
cacy which questions the propriety of such an alli- 
ance, it is not real. I love her and she will love 
me. Other considerations there are none. My 
cup of happiness is full; she is mine at last.” 

‘‘Squire Amphlett,” the Minister said, ‘‘I cannot 
tell you how happy I am in the thought that your 
daughter will look favorably upon me. I under- 
stand the spirit and purport of your words, and I 
do not forget your favors when you were not as you 
are now. It was not upon help that I could give 
that your esteem for me was based; your esteem is 
not altered now that I can give it. It is as it was; 
the urgency in this matter, only, is new, and for 
that there is a vital cause. The change of circum- 
stances, however, have changed your daughter 


THE MINISTER'S WEAK POINT, 165 

Cjrace, I am aware of that, — while they have been 
sad circumstances to you and your household, they 
bring to me happiness, for they give me your daugh- 
ter, whom I love with all the depth of my nature. 
If, in her changed circumstances, your daughter can 
reconsider her refusal to be my wife, I can only 
think that what was disaster to you brought joy to 
me, and in bringing me joy canceled her troubles 
and yours.” 

“You are the noble man I ever thought you, my 
dear friend Todd, and my daughter, aside from her 
respect and regard for you as her father’s best 
friend, must love you for the personal nobleness of 
your character.” 

“Do not let me, my good friend Amphlett, be 
misunderstood in the matter. I love your daugh- 
ter Grace, and I would not cause her a heart sorrow, 
that would blast her future happiness, in claiming 
her as a sacrifice for obligations. There can be no 
obligations between your daughter and myself. 
What I can do to assist you in your emergency I do 
freely as your friend; the obligations rest with you. 
I lay no claim to your daughter’s hand upon aught 
but personal sincerity and the love with which I re- 
gard her. She must know and feel this, even 
though by the knowledge she can cast me hopelessly 
back into misery. This beside I would have her 
know : that in my love for her I cannot see adver- 
sity or sorrow come to her while I have the power 
to succor her or those she loves.” 

“She will know your character better than ever 


i66 


DAVID TODD. 


before,” answered the Squire fervently, grasping 
the Minister’s hand. “She shall, knowing it, love 
you for yourself, and be happy in having a hus- 
band who is worthy of her. ’ ’ 

Through the clouds that surrounded the Squire a 
light appeared, and in a dark horizon the Minister 
saw Hope, like a star, arise and shine. 

What a contradictory character is man! How 
simple an effort it requires to take from his mind 
one thought and place another there ! How readily 
one idea, if it be antagonistic to his pleasure or 
comfort, is displaced by another more comforting, 
even though the moral sense dispute the change. 

The Minister, already, reverting to the thoughts 
of the previous night, and the investigation of the 
history of the past, was prone to think that the 
chances of finding the true heir to Uncle Peter’s 
legacy were so slight as to warrant no steps being 
taken in the matter. 

There were two reasons for this course which the 
Minister did not fairly present to himself: First: 
The finding of an heir would take from him the 
power of helping Grace Amphlett and her kindred. 
Second: The finding of an heir would deprive him 
of his strongest claim to the possession of Grace 
Amphlett’s hand. David Todd was doubtless in- 
fluenced by the thought, which crowded itself into 
his mind without much opposition, that the former 
was the weightier reason. 


A VISIT TO THE MINISTER. 167 

CHAPTER XIX. 

A VISIT TO THE MINISTER. 

J OHN HOPSON had always been a general fav- 
orite in Crosscairn and vicinity, but now, on his 
return from Edinburgh, filled with one absorbing 
subject, which was not by any means medicine.^ he 
had been so reluctant to renew his old friendships, 
that there was danger of a tide of unpopular feeling 
setting in against him. People who have had their 
own little heart affairs, and are well over the direct 
influence of them, are apt to forget whr.t they them- 
selves experienced, and are prone to ignore the same 
condition in others, looking upon identical short- 
comings which they were once guilty of, as unpar- 
donable faults and follies in others. 

After John Hopson had made his “calling and 
election sure,” as he thought, with Grace Amph- 
lett, after the clouds of doubt and uncertainty had 
floated away, after the light had stolen into his 
heart and flooded his whole life in the bright dawn 
of requited love, and dispelled the awful gloom 
which usually reigns in a lover’s heart just before 
this dawn, he began to look about him and to con- 
sider that a few other social duties, besides waiting 
upon Grace Amphlett, claiiped his attention, and 
could be attended to without much sacrifice of those 
sweet and tender thoughts which now dwelt in his 
daily life. 

Among the first of his old acquaintances to which 


i68 


DAVID TODD. 


his thoughts now pointed, was Mr. Todd. As an 
old friend who had counseled him when a boy, and 
as a representative and prominent individual of 
Crosscairn’s social arena, John Hopson thought it 
proper to pay his regards to the Minister. Accord- 
ingly a few days after his confession of love, days 
that had seen Squire Amphlett’s return and had 
brought about serious events, he found himself 
standing in the Minister’s study and grasping the 
reverend gentleman’s hand. 

Mr. Todd received his young friend as usual, and 
the two sat down for an hour’s conversation. 

“Doubtless you are glad to be again in Cross- 
cairn,’’ said the Minister in his accustomed quiet 
way. 

John was voluble upon the pleasure it gave him. 

“Have you called upon many of your former 
friends?’’ 

“Not many; in fact I have called at one place 
only.’’ 

“At the McClellans, I presume. Mr. McClellan 
has a fine family of young ladies.’’ 

“Yes, but that was not the place I alluded to. I 
have confined my visits to Dalmelington, thus far.’’ 

“Oh, yes, I might have thought as much. You 
were always a favorite there when a boy.’’ 

“Yes, I have spent many happy days there.’’ 

“Have you met the Squire lately?’’ 

“No, he has been away at Edinburgh for some 
considerable time on pressing business, and absent 
since my arrival. Indeed he has been absent every 


A VISIT TO THE MINISTER. 169 

time I called during the past two years, for he has 
considerable business there, it seems.” 

“Yes, he has. You found Miss Grace changed?” 

“Oh, yes, very much; that is, she is a woman 
now. When I frequented Dalmelington before 
going to Edinburgh she was but a girl.” 

“She has grown to be a very beautiful woman.” 

“Yes, but that is not strange; she made promise 
of that when a girl.” 

“She was doubtless glad to meet you, her former 
playmate. You were that not many years ago, you 
remember. ’ ’ 

“Yes, she was more than pleased to see me, for 
we were friends and companions, as you say ; and, 
Mr. Todd, I have something to tell you; that we 
have renewed that companionship as older and 
wiser children, in a compact that is not to be 
broken for life. ’ ’ 

The Minister showed no emotion whatever, other 
than the grave pleasure John Hopson expected to 
see from this denouement. Mr. Todd was never 
extravagant in word or gesture, and his feelings 
seemed always temperate and outwardly under con- 
trol ; but if John Hopson could have penetrated this 
calm exterior he would have seen an aroused pas- 
sion like a fire raging within, fanned by jealousy 
and hopeless love. 

There was an important meaning in Mrs. Mc- 
Neish’s words about John Hopson having an eye 
to the Squire’s daughter, but the Minister had not 
looked for such a direct and practical interpreta- 


170 


DAVID TODD, 


tion of the words, as that which John Hopson him- 
self had given him. 

John Hopson, unconscious of the Minister’s feel- 
ings, continued upon the subject nearest his heart, 
glad to have a confessor, as it were, who, he knew, 
would be a disinterested listener, and one to whom 
he might open his heart as to a father, looking for 
advice and sympathy. 

“For years, ever since we were children, this 
mutual feeling has been growing; time has intensi- 
fied it, and our love for each other is now ripe and 
mutual. As for my own heart, and I have no re- 
luctance in exposing it to you who are such an old 
and true friend, I can only say it has one pure and 
and constant sentiment, and that is, love for Grace 
Amphlett ; and as for Grace, her heart echoes the 
same sentiment of love, and I am assured of her 
truth and sincerity in it.” 

John Hopson, looking at the Minister as he 
spoke, saw a grave, calm face upon which no emo- 
tion or excitement was visible. The Minister’s 
eyes were bent upon him with earnestness, and in 
their gray depths only a deep and usual intelligence 
shone, yet underneath, within the Minister’s mind 
and heart, a wild tempest of thoughts and feelings 
was stirring. 

“What does the Squire say to this? You have 
spoken to him, have you not?’’ 

“No. It was the wish of Grace that he should 
not yet know it.’* 

“Strange! She is a dutiful daughter, who has 


A VISIT TO THE MINISTER. 17 1 

her father’s confidence. What reason for secrecy 
has she?” 

“I do not think secrecy is the proper word, if 
you will pardon me; that term is too strong. I fear 
I have given you a wrong impression. It is simply 
a desire to refrain from immediate confession to 
him, for a reason she has not even confided to me, 
other than this : that her father being somewhat 
dictatorial and fixed in his views, she fears, has 
other plans for her future, and, knowing his peculiar 
disposition, she thinks best to keep the affair from 
him, lest he becomes antagonistic in the thought 
that she is putting his wishes aside without giving 
him the consideration he deserves.” 

”What other plans can the Squire have?” 

”That I do not know, further than the mere con* 
jecture that he may have some worthier son-in-law 
in view,” opined John. 

“Does not Grace hint at whom?” the Minister 
calmly asked. 

”No; we will not talk about that at present, she 
says; so I am content so long as my love is first in 
her consideration. As for the Squire, I have no 
fear; his daughter’s happiness he values too highly 
to force upon her an alliance which would rob her 
life of any lasting pleasure or joy.” 

The Minister, with a natural calmness, here 
opined that the Squire might still know his daugh- 
ter's heart better than she, and in a choice of a son- 
in-law, use a judgment mature and disinterested for 
his daughter’s best interests, “Of course,” said 


172 


DAVID TODD. 


“Squire Amphlett, while a man of radical opin- 
ions, is still possessed of keen judgment, and in his 
love for his daughter and her welfare would con- 
sult her best interests. This I say, of course, with- 
out disparagement of you.” 

“Without doubt,” answered John Hopson: “but 
surely in a matter where her heart and affections 
were involved, other considerations would be sec- 
ondary in his judgment, for her happiness would be 
a paramount consideration, and would depend upon 
the fulfillment of his daughter’s desire and her 
deepest affections.” 

“Certainly,” said the Minister, “but Grace and 
you are both young, and the Squire, as a consider- 
ate father, could not be blamed for reluctance in 
accepting the present condition of things, without 
thought and time for consideration.” 

“That I am aware of,” said John Hopson, “and 
appreciate its truth and reasonableness, therefore I 
am not in the least disturbed as to results ; for by 
the very consideration of the matter, the Squire, in 
his love for his daughter, will look only for his 
daughter’s happness, and in that lies the surety of 
my suit, for time can only prove to him that our 
love is mutual and constant, and that in the realiza- 
tion of our union lies our happiness, lies his daugh- 
ter’s life happiness.” 

Freely discussing the subject the two sat together, 
John Hopson confident and happy, the Minister 
quiet and grave, and as the interview closed John 
Hopson took his leave* thinking: “Well, after all, it 


A VISIT TO THE MINISTER. 173 

IS a good thing to converse with a calm and dispas- 
sionate man, who can suggest reasonable modera- 
tion in a matter where an ardent lover might very 
readily and foolishly go astray; for indeed, before I 
counseled with the good Minister, I was half in- 
clined to blame the Squire for entertaining any 
opinion regarding Grace's future, aside from me 
and my love for her. In good time, Grace will tell 
him all, and in a good time her father will give us 
his blessing. " 

Mr. Todd, looking after John Hopson as he 
turned down the Kirk Brae, had many thoughts; 
still, his mind turned actively to one idea which had 
presented itself during the interview. It was that 
which had come to him, when the Squire’s love for 
his daughter was broached and his interest in her 
happiness emphasized. The Minister, thinking 
over this part of the interview, came to the conclu- 
sion that he would tell nothing of it to the Squire. 

Grace had not yet told him. She had her reasons. 
What were they? He thought over the matter 
closely, and rightly concluded that Grace’s own 
words, which John Hopson had repeated, contained 
the true reason for her silence. Yes, she feared to 
antagonize her father. That indicated the power 
her father possessed in ruling her actions. As the 
Minister thought over this, his mind turned toward 
the contemplation of certain circumstances which 
had placed the Squire under his control and influ- 
ence. He could not but discern, in the relation 
which these things bore to each other, that his influ- 


174 


DAVID TODD, 


ence upon the Squire extended materially over the 
daughter if shrewdly directed. By the silence of 
Grace, John Hopson’s chances for favor were to 
be increased, — that is, the Squire’s antagonism was 
to be avoided. What if the secret were divulged at 
once to the Squire? Would the anticipated antago- 
nism decrease John’s chances and so promote his 
own? David Todd considered the matter carefully, 
and decided, as he had at first, not to mention the 
matter to the Squire. Why? John’s words had 
given him the reason : He feared that the Squire, 
learning his daughter’s attachment to this young 
man, might consider her happiness dependent iqDon 
that attachment, and so warrant his paramount 
interest in sanctioning the alliance, even in the face 
of the serious pecuniary trouble about him, and in 
opposition to the sentiments uttered at a late ex- 
ceedingly compromising interview. 

It was not, however, without some severe twinges 
of conscience that the Minister so decided, but 
conscience was silenced by the passionate voice of 
his heart crying: “I cannot give her up. She must 
be mine alone, even though her heart be not given 
to me. I cannot see it given to another. Even 
though she does not love me, even though she de- 
spise me, the warmth of love’s constant fire burn- 
ing day by day in a husband’s heart must kindle a 
reciprocal flame in a wife’s/* 


HUGH DICKIE. 


175 


CHAPTER XX. 

HUGH DICKIE. 

SAY, Doctor John, ha’ ye a bit plaster aboot 

1 ye tae cure a sair finger?’ ’ was the remark that 
greeted John Hopson as he turned into the Kirk 
Brae. He looked in the direction of the salutation 
to see Hugh Dickie, seated in his dog-cart a few 
paces away, with a broad smile upon his ruddy 
face. 

“What! Hughie, is that you?” pleasantly called 
John, somewhat surprised, at the same time cross- 
ing the street to shake hands with Hugh, who had 
stopped his nag and was leaning out of the cart, 
with extended hand. 

“Weel, it’s what’s left o’ me,’’ answered Hugh; 
then followed a very hearty shaking of hands. 

“Jump in, man, jump in and ha’e a crack; I’m 
gaun tae Airdmill and back. Climb in, man.’’ 

In a moment John was by his side, and the horse 
was started. 

“An’ are ye a doctor at last, my lad, and ha’e 
they learned ye a’ the tricks o’ the trade? Here, 
man, feel ma pulse an’ tell me a’ aboot the fever I 
hinna got. Can ye tell a pimple frae a carbuncle, 
an’ write oot a prescription in Latin, that will bring 
a deed man tae life?” 

“Yes, Hughie, I can do a’ that and muckle 
mair,” replied John, lapsing into a dialect natural 
to him, when among those who used it. “Why, 


176 


DAVID TODD. 


last week I amputated a man’s leg, and to-day the 
man has a new one, grown in its place. Skill, 
Hughie, medical and surgical skill ; the only trouble 
is, the new leg is two inches longer than the old 
one.” 

“I’ faith, ye’r the same young rascal! I’ve nae 
doot ye’ve passed a guid examination, but hearken, 
lad, ye mauna tell that story tae the Crosscairn folk, 
for they’d forget a’ aboot the new leg and flay ye 
alive for makin’ the puir man limp.” 

The two laughed in good spirits, and Hugh, 
slapping John’s knee in the exuberance of his feel- 
ings, demanded: “Noo tell me, lad, tell me a guid 
thumpin’ medical lee wi’ a semblance o’ truth, for 
I’m gaun tae the Black Bull the nicht, an’ I’ll hae 
ma fun aff o’ twa or three wise anes there.” 

‘T have not come back to Crosscairn to carry 
coals to Newcastle. Besides, I have too much re- 
spect for you, Hughie, to steal the gift heaven has 
so lavishly bestowed on you.” 

“’Deed ye’r an impident young whelp. Dae ye 
think I ha’e the gift o’ leeing? an’ if ye think sae, 
dae ye daur tae say that sic a gift comes frae heaven?” 
said Hugh, with mock solemnity. “I tell ye what, 
ma young doctor, gin that’s the kind o’ theology 
ye’ve been takin’ a lesson in at the Minister’s, ye’d 
ha’e better bided in Edinboro.” 

Then followed a hearty laugh again; when this 
had subsided, Hugh said: ‘T saw ye cornin’ oot o’ 
the Manse. I suppose ye’d been in tae pay yer re- 
spects tae the Minister. Weel, I paid mine a month 


HUGH DICKIE. 177 

syne last Tuesday nicht. I was at the prayer 
meetin’.’' 

“No!” ejaculated John. 

Hugh said: “Ay, it’s true,’’ with the air of a 
man admitting the charge of a guilty action. 

“See here, Hughie, ’’ said John, “your symptoms 
are alarming. Only a month ago we had a similar 
case at the college; a man with religious mania, a 
bad case, incurable, in short ; we sent him to the 
asylum. The last we heard of him, he was a rav- 
ing maniac.” 

“It’s a slow fever wi’ me ; ’twas the first attack in 
ten years. Let me ask, is it an intermittent disease ? ’ ’ 

“Yes, man, of course it is.” 

“Weel, I suppose I maun just mak’ up my mind 
tae gang tae the asylum if I live. ’ ’ 

“Certainly.” 

“Hoo auld will I be then, think ye, my medical 
adviser?” 

“Older than Methuselah.” 

“Deed, I think it wad be a muckle shame tae 
pit sic an auld man in a madhoose; but leavin’ 
jokin’ aside, noo, hoo ha’e ye come on at Edinboro?” 

Entering into an account of events interesting 
to his companion, John Hopson conversed; after 
which Hugh, whose mind was a storehouse of fact 
and fiction, regaled John with the annals of the 
neighborhood. Perhaps no man in the parish was 
better fitted to be the historian of past and current 
events pertaining to Crosscairn personalities, than 
Hugh Dickie. In the matter of gossip he was Cross- 


178 


DAVID TODD. 


cairn’s great high priest, arbitrator, censor. A 
pessimist of the most radical type, he recorded 
every flaw, and was blind to everything that ap- 
proached perfection. With a sharp tongue, he pub- 
lished his sentiments and visited the condemnation 
of his opinions upon all. Not only the present gen- 
eration did he criticise and know, but the past, and 
if he had strolled through Crosscairn’s churchyard, 
reading the inscriptions upon the stones, he would 
doubtless have given the lie to not a few recorded 
statements, laudatory of the dear departed there. 
In his knowledge of persons and events, chronologi- 
cally arranged, dating from a remote period of the 
past, he was able, whenever he felt it necessary, to 
visit the sins of the parents upon the children, to 
the third and fourth generation ; in short, he was 
the spirit of Crosscairn gossip and the personified 
essence of its vituperation. 

Hugh Dickie was argumentative, with an opinion 
upon all subjects, and he was ever ready to express 
it. It mattered not to him that a given subject was 
argued after his own manner of thought, by another 
individual of the same mind ; he was always ready 
to find a point of difference and to enter a dispute 
upon that. If Hugh had been cast upon a jury of 
twelve, that jury could not have agreed, for he 
would have been the one sole, reasonable juror to 
stand out distinct and alone among the eleven other 
self-opinionated and obstinate members; yet Hugh 
had a heart, warm in direct and practical emergen- 
cies, and though he might have argued with an 


HUGH DICKIE. 


179 


opponent “till his eyelids would no longer wag/* 
still he would have done a practical good turn for 
him, freely and generously, after the most bitter 
dispute. Finally, there was one thing Hugh Dickie 
was ever ready to defend, and that was the charac- 
ter and worth of the Squire and his household, 
and upon that subject alone he was ever ready to 
compromise with a view similar to his own. 

After a long chat, during which John Hopson 
had many a laugh at Hugh’s character sketches, 
there came a lull in the conversation, and John, to 
avoid further personalities, remarked the character 
of the weather during the late harvest season. 

“Ay, the weather was no that bad, but let me tell 
ye, we dinna get muckle guid i’ this warld that we 
dihna ha,’e tae pay dear for, in ane way or anither.” 

“But,” said John Hopson, rather fond of debate 
himself, “we are generally able to meet adversity 
and to ride safely over ordinary calamities.” 

“I ken what ye’d say,” said Hugh with snappish 
energy, “ 'the back’s ay made for the burden.’ 
Lord, an’ T wish it were true. Gin ye’d seen what I 
saw this day ye’d no’ be sure o’ it. Did ye’ no hear 
what happent? There was Sandy Gray, no’ three 
oors syne fell frae the mast-head o’ a schooner at 
the Quays an’ brak’ his neck on the deck, — but 
that’s no’ the warst o’ it ; Sandy has a wife and five 
wee bairns; think o’ that, man, an’ say, is the back 
ay made for the burden, think ye? Psh ! savin’ yer 
presence, it’s a lee. Hip, there, hip! git on, ye 
limmer ye!” 


1^6 


DAVID T0b3. 


The last words were addressed to the nag, and as 
Hugh uttered them he laid the whip upon the back 
of the animal with vindictive emphasis. 

“Ay, he’s as deed as a herrin’,“ Hugh resumed, 
as the beast settled into a trot, ‘ ‘an’ his wife an’ her 
bits o’ weans are left withoot a shillin’ tae divide 
amang them. The back’s aye made for the burden, 
is it? Mair than that, I’m thinkin’ the parish will 
no’ be sae weel pleased wi’ the burden o’ takin’ 
five wee feytherless weans in charge. That’s ae 
back will brak wi’ an unco’ groanin’, but I’m 
thinkin’, tho’, that oor worthy frien’, the Minister, 
will mak’ it a’ richt. Nae doot but he’ll gang tae 
the widow, wi’ his hands empty an' his mouth fu’ o’ 
sermons on patience an’ lang sufferin’, an’ mak’ 
her believe it was a’ for the best.’’ 

“See here, Hughie,’’ broke in John. “You seem 
to have a grudge against the Minister, or at least 
very little respect for him.’’ 

“Respect,” said Hugh, and the word rolled from 
between his teeth like a snarl. “Ihae heard ower 
mony stories tae his discredit tae respect him.” 

“Stories!” ejaculated John. “Stories! they 
may be lies. You know well what Crosscairn is 
capable of in that particular line.” 

“I’ll yield that point, that Crosscairn has a gift 
that way, but you must on yer ain part allow that 
there is truth somewhere.” 

“I’ll allow nothing of the kind till I hear the 
stories. I believe Crosscairn to be capable of too 
much originality in falsehood and to be too active 


HUGH DICKIE, 

in gossip, to allow what you ask, without evi- 
dence.” 

“Weel noo, let me tell ye a story o' the mean- 
ness o’ the body, an' ye may na be sic' a champion 
o' his holiness. I heard it on the vera best au- 
thority at the Black Bull yestereen.'' 

“Out with the story, Hugh.'' 

”Weel,'' began Hugh, who was happy in the pres- 
ent opportunity to relate a tale to some one's dis- 
credit, “ye ken Jock Cambell, wha was marrit short 
syne. Well, Mr. Todd was awa at Glasgow at a 
meetin' o' clerical gentry, an’ Jockie lad was obliged 
to get auld Maister Black o' the Airdmill parish 
tae tie the knot. Ye ken Minister Black, a kindly 
auld body he is. Weel, as I was sayin', auld Black 
tied the knot, an’ Jock, wha is a thrifty chiel an’ 
unco’ weel tae dae, gied the auld minister a ten- 
shilling piece. Things went on, an' nae mair was 
thocht o' it, 'til Mr. Todd cam’ hame frae Glasgow 
an’ heard o’ Jockie's marriage; an' at aince he 
posted aff for Airdmill, an' says he tae Black: ‘Ye 
marrit a parishioner o’ mine, I hear, when I was 
awa at the Synod.' ‘Ay,’ says Black. ‘What was 
the fee?' quoth Mr. Todd. ‘Ten shillin’ s,’ says 
Black. ‘Dinna ye think the half o’ that's mine?’ 
says Todd, ‘seeing as Jock was ma parishioner. ' At 
that Maister Black opened his een an’ spak oot, and 
says, ‘Oh, that’s what ye cam' for, is it? I beg^yer 
pardon, there is the ten shillin's, Maister Todd.' 
‘The half is a’ I want,’ says Todd. ‘But he was 
yer ain parishioner,' says Black, wi' severity. ‘Tak* 


i 82 


DAVID TODD, 


the ten shillin’s, man,’ an’ he counted the sillar oot 
in shillin’ pieces, into the hands o’ that wee sma’ 
body o’ oors, wha didna male’ further protest, but 
pocketed them a’ an’ went awa contented.” 

At the concluson of this recital John simply ut- 
tered an expressive “Bah!” 

“It’s like a sheep o ’the Minister’s flock ye’ll be 
bleatin’, I hear, ” promptly rejoined Hugh, with 
some show of feeling. 

John laughed aloud and said: “If I’d read that 
story in China, printed in Chinese. I’d have known 
it’s nativity to be Crosscairn. They are a wicked 
set in Crosscairn, and the present order of things 
ought to be changed, Hughie. There ought to be 
six Sabbaths and one week-day. The Minister is 
too good for the parish; the people are trying to 
reach his level, by pulling him down.” 

“Ugh ! ” returned Hughie with a toss of his head, 
“that’s just as folks think; it’s no pu’in doon, but 
settin’ up he gets. There’s oor wife, for instance: 
Mr. Todd has but tae say the word an’ oor wife 
wad gie him the hoose an’ a’ in it, if the lave o’ us 
roosted i’ the hen bawk. Ma certie, when his rever- 
ence comes tae the hoose a’ the brass an’ cheena in 
the place is polished an’ cleaned an’ the hoose is 
scrubbed ’til it shines, as though the Duke o’ Buc- 
cleuch was cornin’ tae ca’; the best is laid on the 
table, an’ the Minister pit at the head, while I may 
sit ahint the door wi ’a bowl o’ the mornin’s parrich 
an’ a horn spoon, — deed, I verily believe I’d be 
pit oot o’ ma ain hoose, if the Minister but played 


HUGH DICKIE, 


183 


blink wi’ his ee. It’s no’ in ma ain hoose alane I sec 
this worship o’ the gowden calf, but in a’ the par- 
ish, it’s the Minister here, the Minister there, an’ 
that holy man ower a’ the parish tae the confusion 
o’ mair honest men. Dae I believe the story o’ the 
marriage fee? Faith ay, young Maister Hopson, 
an’ there’s an’ end o’t.” 

“Now, Hughie,” said John, “let me tell you my 
opinion of Mr. Todd. He is, I know, a humble 
man, doing his best from pure motives, with no 
other thought than a single one for the good of 
others, and a thankless mission is his in Crosscairn. 
Say what you will, Mr. Todd is a man pure and un- 
selfish, and he carries good with him wherever he 
goes.” 

“Im no sae sure o’ that.” 

“Surely, Hugh, there is something behind all 
this.” 

“Weel, if ye will ha’e the truth o’ it, the Minis- 
ter is at the root o’ the trouble at Dalmelington. 
There, I’ve tauld ye mair than I should, but ye’ll 
just keep a closed mouth an’ no’ lisp a word when I 
say, that there is trouble brewin’ for the Squire, an’ 
Maister Todd has mair than a Minister’s hand in it. ’ ’ 

“What is the trouble at Dalmelington?” asked 
John anxiously. 

“I canna say, but the Squire has some great load 
on his mind, an’ the Minister is at the bottom o’ it. 
The twa ha’e been thegether vera aften before the 
Squire went tae Edinboro’, an’ after every meetin’ 
o’ the twa, the Squire was further in the dumps, an* 


184 


DAVID TODD, 


grown a year aulder. Noo the Squire is back, bent 
doonlike an auld man, an’ the first thing he does is 
tae post Thamas, the gardener, aff tae the Minister 
wi’ a sealed letter, an’ the next thing he does is tae 
follow it himsel’. Not only the Squire, but Miss 
Edith an’ the young lady, Grace, ha’e been affected 
by it. It’s no’ a spiritual matter that troubles them 
a’, but it’s a question o’ warldly interest o* some 
serious kind. Noo, dinna hint a word o’ this. I’ve 
tauld ye a’ I ken at present, an’ ye may believe me 
or no’ in this, that the Minister has mair than the- 
ology tae tak’ up his time, an’ he’s no’ a’thegether 
what he should be.” 


CHAPTER XXI. 

A SUDDEN CHECK. 

W ITH the words of Hugh Dickie in his mind, 
disturbing him not a little, John Hopson for- 
warded a brief note to Grace, conveying his inten- 
tion of calling at Dalmelington the following even- 
ing. His surprise and disappointment were great 
when he received, in return, a message from Miss 
Edith Amphlett, informing him politely, and with a 
vague suggestion of troubles which the writer failed 
to disclose, that she, in company with Grace, was 
about to leave immediately for Edinburgh, to be 
absent for some time. The note further hinted that 
for the present it would be esteemed a favor if no 
further question in the matter were raised. 

What was he to understand by this surprising 


A SUDDEN CHECK. 


i8S 

note? While it was a delicate, yet forcible appeal, 
urging passive inaction and restricted consideration, 
yet under the same conditions it was an eloquent in- 
centive to action and consideration. Was he simply 
to stagnate in apathetic feeling? Were love, hope, 
and even natural interest and solicitude to become 
dormant and suspend their forces; suspend their 
powers in the very moment when they should be 
most active? 

John Hopson knew he owed certain positive obli- 
gations to courtesy and etiquette, but he felt he 
owed a greater duty to love. He felt and knew that 
curiosity was not a factor in his thoughts, but that 
love and sincere interest of affection were the mo- 
tives which moved him to set aside obedience to 
Miss Edith’s note. He determined at least to re- 
ceive, if possible, more definite information, touch- 
ing affairs at Dalmelington, and with this idea he 
dispatched a letter to Miss Edith, in which he wrote 
that not wishing to intrude in any matter not his 
own, yet he trusted his anxiety might be set at rest 
by an assurance that all was well with Grace, and 
that his interest in her was in no way the cause of 
existing developments or could be affected by them 
to his detriment. 

To this he received answer from Miss Edith, that 
while certain troubles, of a serious nature, had arisen, 
he was not in any sense associated with their cause; 
at the same time he was, she was deeply grieved to 
say, involved in the results of the troubles which 
had conie upon them, and these troubles would 


DAVID TODD. 


1 86 

be materially augmented not only by his presence 
and association with the Dalmelington household, 
but by any act of his, looking at present to a resump- 
tion of their late intimacy. The letter closed with 
expressions of sincere and high regard for him, 
which had not altered, and assured him again, that 
his place in the heart of her niece was only affected 
by certain inexorable decrees, which were indepen- 
dent and aside from him in every sense. Miss 
Edith also delicately hinted that the Squire, as yet, 
knew nothing of the events which had transpired 
during his long absence, regarding his daughter’s 
affections, and concluded by insisting peremptorily 
that he was not by any means to be approached 
upon the subject. 

Here was a blow to John Hopson. At last he 
knew something, which, though altogether void of 
positive detail, yet was definite in its general out- 
line. John set himself to think, — that was all he 
could do at present. His thoughts were sad and 
desponding, but his was too brave a heart to be en- 
tirely overcofne by them. If he had not received 
the blow given him from one who had both his and 
Grace’s welfare at heart, he would have been rapid 
in thought and act, but he was obliged to respect 
the words of Aunt Edith. This respect, so to speak, 
bound him to the passive acceptance of the condi- 
tions she urged in her letter, and in doing so chained 
him, as it were, like a prisoner, — a prisoner, whose 
body is in chains, but whose heart still throbs in 
freedom, 


A SUDDEN CHECK, 


187 


Despite this restrictive element, his thoughts 
sought to throw aside passive acceptance of the situa- 
tion. Miss Edith had spoken of inexorable decrees. 
What decrees? Were they inexorable? He asked 
himself these questions, and the last created in his 
mind a doubt that aroused him to learn a definite 
answer to it. 

Hugh Dickie had said, speaking of the trouble at 
Dalmelington, “The Minister is at the bottom of 
it.” After a short season, a few days, he would in- 
vestigate this trouble, and his investigation would 
begin with the Minister. 

With a heavy heart he waited upon David Todd 
and opened an investigation, which, while it gave 
him the facts in the case in regard to the Squire 
and his pecuniary troubles, yet did not at all en- 
lighten him as to the basis of Hugh Dickie’s asser- 
tion that the “Minister was at the bottom of it.” 
The Minister in his quiet way appeared only in the 
character of a very disinterested person ; in short, 
he simply maintained his character of a friend of 
the Squire’s family and a devoted pastor. 

Thus matters stood, and for a time the unhappi- 
ness of two people, one in Edinburgh and the other 
in Crosscairn, preyed deeply and silently upon 
each, and while two hearts were beating in unison, 
two lives were drifting apart, for John Hopson was 
held to inaction by the words of Miss Edith, that 
any act of his looking to a resumption of their late 
intimacy would augment the trouble. Grace was 
living to fulfill the sacrifice she had purposed; Miss 


i88 


DAVID TODD. 


Edith was in a negative condition of mind, dis- 
tracted between two sides of a serious question, in- 
volving love and duty equally ; the Squire was bent 
on a delivery from his embarrassments, and, know- 
ing only a part of the condition of affairs, applied 
his energies in one direction only, and that in inno- 
cent opposition to John Hopson. As for the Min- 
ister, he remained steady, quiet, and shady. 


CHAPTER XXII. 

THE MINISTER DETERMINES TO INVESTIGATE. 

W HILE Mr. Todd had his peculiarities, he was 
in general like other men. Human nature is 
in the main alike among men, unaffected by geo- 
graphical location or peculiar training. Selfishness 
is a primal quality of human nature, and it hides 
itself under many guises. The Minister, philo- 
sophic as he might be, had deceived himself as to 
his real motives in the seemingly generous conduct 
of the late interview with the Squire; in brief, to 
get at the gist of the matter, he had changed his 
principles as soon as they involved his own happi- 
ness. It is true, he argued that he was acting from 
a desire to do good, but take note that, in doing 
good, he was consulting his own happiness. If not 
his happiness in the tangible prospect of getting 
nearer the woman he loved, then his happiness in 
doing an act which gave him a comforting thought 


THE MINISTER TO INVESTIGATE. 189 

that he had proved himself worthy and sincere in 
his love. To be again more brief, — he had paid a 
price in principle, for a flattering unction to his 
soul ; to sum up , — he had been selfish^ not just. 

While Mr. Todd might have pondered certain 
problems and found little difficulty in solving them 
correctly under certain disinterested conditions, he 
was at present so influenced by one all-absorbing 
thought, that relatively other thoughts were dwarfed, 
and consequently they failed to weigh properly in 
the mental balance necessary to a correct under- 
standing of the situation. However, the Minister, 
thinking over the matter of past history connected 
with Mrs. Maxwell’s legacy, was not altogether satis- 
fied that an apathetic indifference to the question, 
whether the fortune to come into his hands was his 
or another’s, was in keeping with perfect honesty. 

At first, he was prone to dismiss such thoughts, 
but they continued to present themselves; then he 
found himself combating them; finally he received 
them as reasonable thoughts deserving considera- 
tion. 

After all, he thought, it is highly improbable that 
the heir can be found, even if living, after the lapse 
of so many years, especially when it is considered 
that the child’s parents were unknown when they 
died. The child itself was thrown in infancy upon 
the world, and, in all probability, had become lost 
beyond discovery in such a wide and crowded sphere, 
among thousands of outcasts like itself. Then he 
thought of the probabilities of the child’s existence, 


190 


DAVID TODD. 


in view of the years that had passed, and the statis- 
tics of mortality among children. Even in the case 
of children, born under fortune to be cared for and 
reared in loving solicitude, the mortality in such a 
long period of time would undoubtedly be very great, 
and it was a rare chance if a child designated at 
random twenty-five years ago would be among the 
living to-day. The child in question was a waif, 
one of a class destined to exist under adverse cir- 
cumstances at the best ; its vicissitudes in the strug- 
gle for survival would be many and serious, and its 
chances for life exceedingly narrowed. Consider- 
ing these reasonable premises, the Minister came to 
the conclusion that there could be no sequel to the 
story of Uncle Peter’s heir, other than that of the 
child’s early death. 

Still this conclusion did not satisfy him; there 
was remaining in his mind a desire which forced 
itself there, impelling him to know all. This im- 
pelling thought was not unlike that which Hood so 
graphically portrays in the poetic story of Eugene 
Aram: “One stern tyrannic thought that made all 
other thoughts its slave. ” 

At length the Minister, after conflicting thoughts, 
decided to investigate, and so rest contented in the 
consciousness that he had acted properly and justly, 
and satisfied the demands of right ; but resolving 
thus, there was almost a surety in his mind that 
his search would be a fruitless one, and so it was 
that the strength of his resolve, as a moral conclu- 
sion, was weakened, and his search, instead of being 


THE MINISTER TO INVESTIGATE. 19I 


a pure and unprejudiced act of disinterested justice, 
became a selfish act, by which he meant to set his 
conscience at rest and flatter his soul into a good 
opinion of itself. 

This determination to investigate had an early 
effect upon one who had put into the Minister’s 
mind the cause of its present unrest. This was lit- 
tle Mysie McGill ; the early effect was produced by 
that executive character, Mrs. McNeish, as she 
brought her palm sharply in contact with Mysie’ s 
ear, with the words : 

“An’ if the Minister is tae get tae Glasgow the 
nicht, it’ll no’ be because yer ower active aboot 
ye’r wark, ye lazy wee deevil.’’ 

Sandy, who witnessed this piece of cruelty, cov- 
ertly pinched himself in a desire to share the suffer- 
ing in some manner ; indeed, there were divers black 
and blue spots upon his body, which he had inflicted 
upon himself during the week for the same reason. 

It was the only way he could show his sympathy 
at times, and his heart devised this method as an 
innocent relief to his outraged feelings. 

Mrs. McNeish made as much commotion over the 
Minister’s departure as would be necessary for the 
evacuation of a garrison, and before he was fairly 
started, traveling bag in hand, poor Sandy was 
thinking of committing some grave crime, so as to 
insure a speedy arrest and transportation to some 
distant penal colony, where he might spend a few 
quiet years in peaceful companionship of a ball and 
chain, while little Mysie, in a whirl of fear and anx- 


192 


DAVID TODD. 


ions nervousness, was making pantomimic gestures 
in a corner with her arms, as though protecting 
herself from impending blows. 

“Whew!” ejaculated Sandy, “I’m glad he’s 
safely aff tae Glasgow, but ma certie, the guid wife 
raised the deevil tae get him there; if the Minister 
tak’s ony mair suddent whims o’ travel, the Lord 
only kens what’s tae become o’ us a’.’’ 

Later in the day, Sandy, with his pipe in his 
mouth (bless his good heart, what would he have 
done without the solace of his pipe!), sat in philo- 
sophic contemplation, thinking what would the 
world be if there were a majority of people living in 
it, having his wife’s temper? His thoughts sug- 
gested a religious train of ideas, and the orthodox 
hell or place of torment presented itself as a highly 
reasonable picture growing out of such speculative 
considerations. He wondered if the ancients who 
first promulgated the doctrine of “divine malignity’’ 
had conceived the idea through the evidence of 
sense, as he might have done had he not been taught 
it previous to his alliance with Mrs. McNeish, 
From these natural queries he went back to dogma 
and then to speculation again. There was a place 
of torment, he knew, but as to its location, on this 
or the other side of the grave, he was heretic and 
uncertain. Under his early teaching and his later 
married experience, he had no alternative but to 
place it on both sides of the grave, and with this 
thought he sighed and said : 

“Weel, an’ if a man suffers on this side, it canna 


THE MINISTER TO INVESTIGATE. 193 


be amiss tae think he will suffer a wee bit less on 
the tither, for a’ things are wisely ordered, and the 
Lord surely loves a just balance.” 

Then he puffed at his pipe in silence, and took a 
new line of thought : “I canna gainsay the harmony 
o’ creation or the plan o’ existence, for where there 
appears a blemish there may be nane, the blemish 
may be in ane’s ain imperfect vision, but I will say 
this, though it may be a conceited and wrang 
thoucht, that wi’ what licht I hae, I’m no’ able tae 
see a guid cause for bein’ punish’t wi’ Mrs. Mc- 
Neish’s temper, tae sic an extent as tae sairly tempt 
me tae dae tha things, which will mak’ it waur for 
me after I’m deed.” It took several long puffs to 
the consideration of this subject, then he advanced 
on a new track. 

“If I live as I oucht tae, righteously an’ guid 
under a’ the provocation I get, it’s because I’m born 
wi’ a nature tae bear it and hae been sae edicated; 
but there’s mony a nature born tae rebel an’ no’ 
trained tae bear provocation; it will be hard for sic 
anes tae enter the kingdom o’ heaven. Puir bodies, 
if they dinna reverse the plan o’ nature born in 
them they will ha’e muckle tae answer for, but I’m 
sairly at a loss tae ken whether man is at a’ times 
able tae conquer his moral nature an’ elect himsel’ 
tae eternal life thereby, mail* than tae conquer his 
physical nature, an’ lift himsel’ frae a bed o’ dis- 
ease or auld age tae continue an earthly life he sae 
dearly loves. Deed, I’m driftin’ into a state o’ 
mind wi’ thinkin’o’ these things that is no’ in keepin’ 


194 


DAVID TODD. 


wi’ the commands o’ the church, sae I’ll just let the 
matter drap whar I find it, but this thing I will say : 
I’ faith, oor wife, though she be a guid Christian 
woman, as I’ve aften said before, wad drive mony 
a man tae perdition wi’ her ugly temper.” 

Mysie also had her thoughts that day, and though 
not as mature as Sandy’s they were quite as sincere. 
She wondered if Mrs. McNeish when she got to 
heaven would be as quick in her temper among the 
saints there as she was on earth. 

Mrs. McNeish, though a hard taskmaster at any 
time, was awed into certain bounds of reasonable- 
ness in the control of her natural impulses when the 
Minister was in the house, but when the reverend 
gentleman was away she gave loose rein to her tem- 
per and was as terrible as an army with banners. 
Ppor little Mysie at such times was sorely driven, 
and after a day of laborious drudgery, abuse and 
blows sought an early bed, too nervous and ex- 
hausted to enjoy a peaceful sleep, and with a mind 
too full of the responsibilities of the next day to 
rest as one who has come to the end of trouble. 

Little Mysie often felt the rigors of this slavish 
life, and at times she would draw a deep sigh and 
drop into a chair with a faint cry of worn-out ex- 
haustion. She never had a rebellious thought, how- 
ever ; she was so young, so innocent, so faithful, so 
simple that she never paused to question the belief 
that she was born to these things, that it was her lot. 
Tired and sore as she often was, faint and nervous, 
and with no bright spots in her path, with the dreary 


THE MINISTER TO INVESTIGATE. 195 


routine of the past extended into the future pros- 
pect, she worked on bravely and uncomplainingly. 

To wish that she were dead, was a thought that 
never entered her mind, and if that idea had entered 
there she would have blushed at the selfishness 
which gave rise to it. Still Mysie was not unhappy, 
though her lot was an unhappy one ; she was happy 
as far as she knew happiness, in being able to prove 
to her parents her affection and gratitude for all 
they had done for her. (What had they done? 
brought her into the world and reared her till the 
age of four, when she began to pay back the debt of 
her existence). 

Mysie’s happiness took a tangible form when, at 
the end of each month, she gave her mother her 
earnings and saw the weight of care at home light- 
ened thereby. A new pair of shoes for one of her 
brothers, a shirt for her father, a morsel of rare rel- 
ish for her mother, in such things Mysie had her 
reward and was ready to continue under Mrs. Mc- 
Neish without complaint. It is true, being of a 
sweet and gentle nature herself, she sometimes 
wished that Mrs. McNeish could be more patient, 
more agreeable, but these thoughts did not go fur- 
ther; she accepted the situation and applied herself 
to her task. She could have borne the labor and 
blows inflicted upon her, without more than a pass- 
ing thought, but Mrs. McNeish, in her grand and 
magnificent meanness, gave her many a cruel word 
of reproach, and was not in the least delicate in the 
matter of slur and sting of a personal nature aimed 


DAVID TODD. 


T96 

at Mysie’s kindred. These things brought tears to 
Mysie’s eyes, and often, when she retired to her 
attic, she sobbed herself to sleep thinking of the 
wounds her sensitive heart had received. 

Mrs. McNeish, exercising all the venom of her 
character, ruled like a tyrant of the choicest villainy, 
and never noticed that her abject little subject was 
wearing out under the ceaseless grinding of the 
wheel of torture. One day, going into the kitchen, 
she found little Mysie asleep, as she thought, and 
grasping her rudely by the arm gave her no gentle 
shake. She discovered then that the subject of her 
abuse was in a faint. Calling Sandy she bade him 
“bring the wee hizzie tae her senses,” and to take 
her home, for she was “no’ going tae hae a wee sick 
servant on her hands.” Sandy, by gentle means, 
brought Mysie to consciousness, and when she weakly 
opened her eyes and began promptly to stagger 
about in a desire to resume her work, he spoke kindly 
to her and urged her to go home for a day or two 
for rest, as she was not well enough to work; so 
Mysie with a sad heart and many protests that she 
was “only a wee bit dazed, ye ken,” was escorted 
to her own people by Sandy, w^ho said at the door 
as he left her, putting a crumpled piece of paper in 
her hand: 

“Here Mysie, wee lass, here’s a button aff yer 
dress, ye can sew it on when ye get mair time”; so 
saying he hurried away, as Mysie thought, with un- 
seemly haste, but when she entered her father’s door 
and looked at the crumpled paper Sandy had placed 


MYSIE LEAVES SEE VICE. 


197 


in her hand, she found it to be a good one-pound 
note, and knew why Sandy had left her so hurriedly. 

In the course of a few days the Minister returned 
to Crosscairn as he had left, and during the next 
week he took another trip, but although Mrs. Mc- 
Neisli did all she could to lead the Minister into a 
disclosure of his business in Glasgow, she did not 
succeed. Finally she said: 

“Weel, what wi* Synods an' Assemblys, an' 
preachin an’ prayin', no' tae speak o’ marryin’ an' 
buryin’ an' sittin' up wi' sinners, wha wait 'til the 
eleventh oor tae be saved. I’ll hae the Minister doon 
on ma hands wi’ a sickness, an’ that wee hizzie 
Mysie awa playin’ sick like her betters.” 


CHAPTER XXIII. 

MYSIE LEAVES SERVICE. 

A fter a day of fitful showers and gusty winds, 
which started out of uncertain quarters, and 
took erratic races up and down thoroughfares and 
around sudden corners, after a day of whirling 
leaves and the general blackness and cheerless con- 
ditions which attend a waning autumn day, the even- 
ing fell over Crosscairn early and dark. Behind the 
Manse, the hills were one great mass of inky black, 
scarcely distinguishable from the great somber banks 
of clouds, which lay piled in ominous grandeur 
above them. In the opposite distance, where the 
sea sent up a monotonous moan, the sky shone at 


198 


DAVID TODD. 


the horizon, in bold and sharply outlined bands of 
red and black, merging gradually toward the zenith 
into uncertain patches of leaden blue. The air was 
raw and humid, and the breath of the ocean came 
up in gusts of quick and searching keenness, so that 
the few people who were abroad hurried along evi- 
dently bent upon an early shelter from the night. 
The lights upon the streets seemed to increase the 
gloom rather than annul it, and as the early hours 
went by, flickered out of existence and left the 
streets in possession of the darkness. At midnight, 
the whole sky was one mass of leaden clouds, and 
the only light upon the Kirk Brae was the swinging 
lantern of the Black Bull blinking against the murky 
background of the sky like a solitary eye, and as it 
swung to and fro in the gusts of wind, alternately 
presenting a red and white light, its blinking eye 
seemed bloodshot. 

At midnight Mr. Todd, clad in his greatcoat, 
came down the steps of the Manse, and with the 
blinking eye of the Black Bull as the only discern- 
ible object in the distant gloom, hurried down the 
Kirk Brae. With the eye before him seeming to 
blink with maudlin stupidity, and a distant chorus 
of voices, singing in drunken discord, rising and dy- 
ing far down the street, he turned from the Kirk 
Brae and took his way down a low-lying and irregu- 
lar lane. He walked carefully in the darkness and 
looked about inquiringly at the straggling houses 
which stood darkly on either side of the way. Not 
a gleam of light was visible, and the silence of the 


MYSIE LEA FES SERVICE. 199 

night was only interrupted by the occasional rattling 
of a bare branch, swinging in the wind, and the 
howling of a dog, far away in the night. 

After progressing for a short distance, at times 
pausing to peer more closely at the houses, he came 
to a sudden twist in the irrregular road and, perceiv- 
ing a faint glimmer at a distance, followed its guid- 
ance and stopped at the door of a humble little 
thatched cottage. He knocked, and was admitted 
by a middle-aged man whose dress and manner was 
that of a very humble toiler in life. The man in a 
homely way drew his sleeve across his eyes and ut- 
tered no words, but with a solemn, heart-broken 
glance, made an eloquent gesture in the direction 
of a dimly lighted apartment, where subdued sob- 
bing and low voices were heard. 

The Minister, entering, stood within a family 
circle. Mother, father, brothers and sisters were 
there. , One of their number was about to leave 
them. It was little Mysie McGill, and they were 
gathered about her to bid her farewell. 

Little Mysie lay upon a bed with the hand of 
death upon her. Gently, kindly, the Minister took 
her poor little thin hand in his and stroked her 
wasted cheek; then he said in a subdued but dis- 
tinct voice, looking at the little dying girl and at her 
assembled kindred: “And there shall be no more 
death, neither sorrow nor crying, neither shall there 
be any more pain, for the former things are passed 
away.” 

Oh, simple thought, sublime and soothing words, 


200 


DAVID rODD. 


beautiful, restful, sufficient. Mrs. McNeish, igno- 
rant, superstitious, wicked, with her " indefinite 
heaven and her ridiculous hell, notwithstanding. 

As the Minister spoke, the child sighed a weary 
breath of relief, as of one who had faithfully fulfilled 
her mission in the sphere in which she was created 
and in which she had lived. Albeit she turned with 
an eloquent glance toward her sorrowing people, 
with a yearning impulse of love as though she grieved 
to leave them alone to bear their troubles. Tired 
out, she sighed, as one who is ready for rest, and 
with that sigh, she rested; nevermore to feel the 
burden of cares which her young, earnest, sympa- 
thetic heart had taken on, never again to overtax 
her frail little body, never again to bear the abuse 
and blows and torments of Mrs. McNeish, or any 
other evil spirit. 

Sad were the hearts around the bed. Who can 
tell a mother’s grief? Who can paint a father’s 
woe? Down in the heart, grief hides like a hermit 
and meditates in secret. 

The Minister bowed his head and his heart was 
heavy with the woe about him ; then he arose and 
in simple words taught the lesson of the hour. 
When he took his departure he left the stricken 
family sorrowing silently, and thinking of Mysie as 
she had been, giving to her a homage of love and 
praise which they had never fully given to her when 
in life, learning from their serious thoughts to emu- 
late the good in her life and to be, in all ways, bet- 
ter by the 1^33Qn, 


MYSIE LEAVES SEE VICE. 


201 


And now the stillness and the gloom of the scene, 
the pause so quiet and full of thought that follows 
the dread event, rested upon the house where death 
had taken up his abode, filling and pervading it. 
Each heart was followed by it from the room, and 
it clung to the watchers who came in to sit beside 
the bed. 

With a solemn stillness the hours of the night 
dragged on while the watchers sat silent. The clock 
on the mantel-shelf measured off the seconds, and 
with a startling decision of tone and steady stroke, 
the slow hours were announced. The candle 
burned low and sputtered in its socket, the yellow 
flame leaping up and falling fitfully, shedding a 
trembling glare upon the form lying there so still. 
One, two, three, four, five. The waning night 
draws to a close, and a wakeful chanticleer pipes the 
approach of the chill, gray dawn. There is a faint 
glow in the eastern horizon, which increases steadily 
and penetrates into the room, paling the flickering 
candle’s flame. The fire has gone out and a 
chill pervades the room, which seems to increase 
as the gray light steals in, dispelling the warmer 
glow of the candle. Now, in the cold, thin light of 
the early morning, a more dread and startling influ- 
ence surrounds the watchers, and a vague horror of 
weird and uncanny things lurks in the dim light and 
about the rigid form, lying like a statue in marble. 

Oh, cold, mute Death! What power hast thou 
to subdue the spirit and awe the soul of man ! From 
the remotest past, from that evil day when Cain, 


202 


DAVID TODD. 


who did the first murder, looked upon thee, through 
all the ages and the years thou art unchangeable in 
the awfulness of thy coming! 

As the morning advanced, the sun stole through 
the little eastern window and looked upon the little 
form lying covered in the poor and cheerless room. 
It gently crept into the apartment where Mysie’s 
kindred slept after hours of sad thoughts ; it smiled 
upon them with its gentle ray, and they awoke to 
weep again, despite all its brightness; it glinted 
about the house, and streamed over the fields ; it 
stole into lonely nooks by forest and stream, it rested 
upon the bare hill-sides and crept down into the 
valleys, and explored the hollows where dead leaves 
were heaped ; it traveled down by-roads and lanes, 
counting the mile-stones and saluting early team- 
sters; it peered into the windows of happy homes 
and left its blessing; brightly it glanced into abodes 
of sorrow, wretchedness, and want, and shone into 
haunts of sin and crime; over the world it passed 
and smiled, and in a remote nook of the church- 
yard at Crosscairn it lingered all day, warming the 
sod where little Mysie was to lie. 

So the sun shone in the morning, after the clouds 
and darkness of the night, and wherever it went, 
through all the world, though it had seen many sad 
sights, it had naught to tell but a constant story of 
life and brightness and joy. 

The same beams that gilded the dead form of lit- 
tle Mysie, looked boldly in upon Mrs. McNeish, and 
they played about the room and smiled like a child 


MEG McDUFF, 


203 


on the hard face of the sleeper. She awoke promptly 
and said her prayers. The sunbeams looked in 
upon the Minister too, but they did not awake him, 
but Mrs. McNeish did, shortly after, and, when she 
learned from him that her wee servant lass was no 
longer in service, that rigid doctrinarian ejaculated, 
with raised hands : “Eh, Lord! I hope she is saved.” 
(This was a mere phrase and meant nothing.) 

The bustling day brought Sandy the news, and 
he, good man, said: “Puir wee thing, I micht ha’e 
din mair tae mak’ her happy. It’s a lesson for the 
future.” 

So, obscure, humble, little Mysie died, and the 
same day that her worn-out little body was laid 
within the earth’s bosom in a remote corner of the 
churchyard, a princess of a royal lineage, beautiful 
and accomplished, was consigned to the darkness 
and silence of a mausoleum, a beggar was knighted, 
a lord left his ancestral estate to wander destitute, 
a fool was set in authority, and a knave was ex- 
alted, — but the days came and passed as before, 
and inexorable decrees were carried out, and the 
world moved on, scarcely noting one event more 
than the other. 


CHAPTER XXIV. 

MEG McDUFF. 

D avid TODD had consulted Mysie's aunt, 
Mary McGill, having found her domiciled 
with Mr. Anderson, draper, Jamaica Street, adja- 


204 


DAVID TODD, 


cent to the Broomelaw. From her he heard in de- 
tail the history she had to impart. (It was as the 
bearer of news of Mysie’s death, and, in the relation 
of recent reminiscences, that Mr. Todd gained the 
history); still the information received did not ad- 
vance him materially in his search. The next step 
toward the fulfillment of his discoveries was in the 
direction of the police authorities, and here he was 
met by so much of the insolence of office, that he 
was fain to relinquish his search altogether, but per- 
severing, he fell into the hands of a bland repre- 
sentative of the law’s majesty who, stepping down 
from the dignity and serene indifference of his posi- 
tion, as a custodian of men and morals, conde- 
scended to listen to the Minister’s inquiries, and 
help him through many official formalities, to the 
perusal of certain musty old records. 

After much searching, during which a great deal 
of ancient dust had been set in motion, the Minis- 
ter, poring over the accumulated records long for- 
gotten, of thefts, brawls, suicides, murders, and a 
maze of varied human ills and moral delinquencies, 
came to a page, which told in brief compass, the 
stroy of a certain woman, identified as a Mrs. 
Rutherford, whose body had been taken dead from 
the river, and with it an infant scarcely a year old, 
still living; then followed a statement, which gave 
him the first clue to the advancement of his search. 
In it he read, that no person having claimed the 
body of the unfortunate woman, and her iden- 
tity being unknown, beyond the fact that she was 


MEG McDUFF, 


205 


the wife of a reputed doctor, who had occupied a 
subordinate position in an adjacent hospital, and 
who had died there of a contagious fever a few weeks 
before,— the infant, a boy, had been given to a re- 
spectable citizen: Mr. Arthur Honeychurch, Mer- 
chant, Bridge Street. The Minister found nothing 
further to enlighten him, though he continued his 
search through many dingy pages. Finally he 
closed the tome, and thanking the bland Majesty, 
set out for Bridge Street to learn of Mr. Arthur 
Honeychurch. Here he met with a piece of in- 
formation that seemed practically to end his 
search. 

The worthy occupant of the designated house 
had known Mr. Honeychurch, “a vera fine man in- 
deed,” he said. “Mr. Honeychurch had gone to 
America eighteen years before, come April, an’ he 
had never heard o’ him since that time; in sic a 
wild an’ heathenish country as America he had 
probably been killed and scalped by the natives 
many years syne.” 

The Minister asked if Mr. Honeychurch had 
taken his family with him. 

“Deed,” said the man, “he was a bachelor, an’ 
had nae family tae tak’.” 

The Minister was nonplussed. What could a 
bachelor want with a baby? 

The man continued: “He had a housekeeper, 
though, an’ I mind her weel, but deed he didna’ 
tak’ her wi’ him. She was an auld gabby body, I 
mind, aye crackin’ aboot witches and witchcraft. 


2o6 


DAVID TODD, 


an* strange dreams, an’ whan no’ on sic themes, she 
was aye clishmaclaverin’ aboot her ain country; it 
was in the neighborhood o’ Girvan, I think, ay, it 
was, I mind, for I’ve heerd her say aften, speakin’ 
o’ her hame, ‘Ye can see the Ailsa Craig on a clear 
day, frae ma native hills.’ ” 

“Do you remember her name?’’ the Minister 
asked. 

“Ay, weel, it was Meg McDuff.’* 

“What became of her after Mr. Honeychurch left 
for America?” 

” Aff she gaed tae her ain hame, an’ nae doot but 
ye’ll find her there this day, busy wi’ her witches 
an’ warlocks an’ glowerin’ nae doot at Ailsa Craig, 
for she was a stuffy auld body an’ no’ likely tae 
dee while she saw ithers livin’.’’ 

The Minister returned to Crosscairn, and having 
spent so much time in Glasgow, was obliged to fix 
up an old sermon for his parishioners. Notwith- 
standing the disguise in which he gave it forth from 
the pulpit, certain of his parishioners recognized it 
and criticised it as ‘cauld kale het.’ ’’ 

The Minister, having put his hand to the plow, 
was not the man to look back, so the next week 
found him journeying by rail toward Girvan. Here 
his inquiries, made in a quiet and seemingly com- 
monplace way, brought out the fact that Meg 
McDuff was still living at a neighboring village be- 
yond the adjacent hills. 

Procuring a drag, and a driver who kept his own 
counsel and an attentive eye to his horses^ the 


M£C McDUFF. 207 

Minister began the gradual ascent of the rolling 
country, en route to Barhead, the home of Meg 
McDuff. 

The morning was a beautiful one, clear and bright; 
the distant hills in undulating contour were clad in 
the autumn’s purple hues, and nearer the rolling 
land was bright in yellow, russet, and green, com- 
mingling, where harvesters were busy gathering the 
products of the year. Along the winding road the 
hawthorn hedges were red with berries, and the 
startled crows, making a meal of the crimson fruit, 
flew lazily away, cawing as the drag approached. 
As the drag went whirring along, its echoes sound- 
ing clearly over the fields, the harvesters came to 
hedge and roadside, where they stood wonderingly, 
to resume work when the vehicle had passed, specu- 
lating upon the occupants and their destination as 
country people are wont to do. Approaching the 
hills the ascents became more labored and slow, and 
the short descents more rapid; the winding road 
grew more tortuous, and sudden turns disclosed 
continual changes of scene in the otherwise monoto- 
nous sameness of mountain and vale lying upon 
every side. 

The Minister, sitting silent, enjoyed the journey 
as a lover of nature, alternately speculating upon the 
chances before him of being rewarded in a tangible 
outcome of his search. Thus far, after consider- 
able effort and conscientious inquiry, he was no 
nearer the object of his search than before his resolve 
to discover the heir, and he was doubtful if any 


2o8 


bAVID TODD. 


information given to him by the old woman he now 
sought would bring him nearer to the sequel of the 
history thus far in his posssesion. Even if she 
could tell him* anything, there was in his mind a 
doubt as to its tangible value in the matter of pro- 
ducing a living heir, for the reason that eighteen 
years had passed since the woman had been con- 
nected, personally, with Mr. Honeychurch. Pon- 
dering these things, and with a vague hope, which 
he would not express to himself, that his search 
would be a fruitless one, coupled with a sense of 
self-approval for having done what he could to be 
just in the matter, David Todd sat silent, and the 
drag rolled through the streets of a little mountain 
village. Here at the village inn, “The Sheep and 
Fold,’* the drag halted, and a short refreshment 
was taken by men and horses, the driver taking his 
largely, in a liquid form. Inquiry being made as to 
the home of Meg McDuff, and the information, 
“Four mile wi’ the road, ’’being given, the horses 
were again started. 

Still ascending and descending, turning and twist- 
ing, upon the mountain road, the drag went whir- 
ring along, and the journey’s end was reached when 
the honses were stopped at an isolated little thatched 
hut of the humblest character, and the taciturn 
driver uttered sententiously the words : 

“This is whar ye’ll fin’ her ye’re seekin’, auld 
Meg McDuff.” 

The hut stood back from the road and was ap- 
proached by a winding path, along a jagged hedge. 


MEG Me DUFF, 


^69 

The Minister, following this path and approaching 
the door, paused as voices in conversation reached 
his ear. He could readily designate Meg McDuff 
as one speaker by her tones and peculiar senti- 
ments, and the other speaker as a man. He 
listened, or rather waited so as not to disturb the 
speakers, who were talking animatedly, and heard 
Meg say: 

“I saw the face o’ Mungo MeWhinny last nicht.” 

“Hoot, toot! The man’s been deed this half 
year,’’ the other said. 

“Ay, that’s what mak’s it odd,’’ Meg retorted. 
“I tell ye, man, as I leeve I saw the deed man’s face 
against the window yonder, peerin’ in at me frae 
the mirk withoot.’’ 

“Hits, woman! ye’d been dreamin’,’’ said the 
man incredulously. 

“Not I,’’ protested Meg. “An’ what’s mair, Billy 
Bigg’s coo dee’d at the fa’ o’ the nicht, yestreen.’’ 

“Ay, woman, an’ what significance is there i’ 
that?’’ 

‘ ‘ Muckle, ’ ’ answered Meg. “ There be some will 
no’ believe in the signs o’ the deil, but the deed face 
did na glower in at ma window for naught, an’ mair, 
it’s hobgoblins, fairies, an’ elves that shoot folks’ 
beasts tae death an’ nae hole tae be seen in the skin 
o’ them.’’ 

“An’ was Billy Begg’s coo shot, think ye?’’ 

“Ay, that it was, I hae nae doot.’’ 

“An’ wha shot her?” 

“Deed it was the deil, I’m thinkin’.’* 


210 


DAVID TODD. 


“Och, Meg!” said the man, ** we’ll a’ be shot 
whan the deevil has gotten a gun.” * 

“I’d no’ say,” Meg assented solemnly, “but wi’ 
a’ the signs I hae seen, there’s somethin’ oot o’ the 
or’ner tae happen.” 

There was a pause, and the Minister rapped at 
the door. 

“Aye, Lord keep us!” was the ejaculation that 
followed his rapping ; then the door was opened by 
the man, a rough country shepherd. 

The Minister asked for Meg McDuff, and was in- 
vited to enter. Signifying, then, that he wished to 
converse with that particular individual, the man 
took his departure, though he carried with him 
a very unmistakable appearance of being loath to 
do so. 

Meg McDuff casts a wondering look at the Minis- 
ter, and in a husky voice extends a welcome, bid- 
ding him take a seat which she designates with a 
bony and trembling finger. Meg McDuff, occu- 
pying a low stool by the side of an open fire of fagots 
which crackles and flickers in the somber little room, 
is a picture, and, as the Minister speaks, he makes 
a study of her. 

She is a long, thin woman, seated on a low stool, 
so low that her knees are elevated at an angle of 
forty-five degrees, her elbows resting thereon and 
her chin between her hands, long, bony, scaly 
hands, nervous, twitching hands. Her face is a 


Adapted from an old Scotch chap book. 


MEG Me DUFF, 


211 


Study: behind high cheek-bones, her sunken eyes 
with a fixed and glassy expression look out; her 
nose, long and thin, the bridge almost cutting 
through the skin, resembles more the beak of a vul- 
ture than the nose of a human being ; her mouth 
droops at the corners, and the nether lip overlaps 
the upper, which is sunken in close to the toothless 
gums; her chin projects, and when she speaks two 
yellow snags of teeth are displayed; her complexion 
is jaundice itself and ghastly in the extreme; upon 
her head she wears a white cap with a mammoth 
frill, and over her bowed shoulders a fancy shawl, 
its bright colors long since faded, is tightly drawn. 
In the intervals of silence she mumps her gums, and 
with a monotonous motion, she rocks her body to 
and fro incessantly. 

Sitting thus in the partial shadow of the little 
room, lighted only by the uncertain ray which steals 
through a solitary and dingy window, the fitful flare 
from the crackling fire flashing up and shining in 
starts upon her, she looks indeed a very “secret, 
black and midnight hag.” 

While comprehending the picture in its entirety 
the Minister proceeds to the purpose of his visit, 
and says: “I have called to ask a few simple ques- 
tions in regard to an old acquaintance of yours, one 
Mr. Arthur Honeychurch.” 

Meg, twitching her hands more nervously than 
common, says with a tone of surprise, discernible in 
her husky voice, “Ay, I mind him; I bided wi' him 
for seven years in Glasgow.” 


^12 DAVID TODD, 

“He went to America eighteen years ago; did he 
ever return?” 

“No, — leastways no’ tae ony knowledge o’ mine.’’ 

The Minister pauses for a moment, and not being 
certain of the disposition of Meg, as a willing wit- 
ness in the matter, and a disinterested one, de- 
termines upon a bold question. 

“What became of the little child he brought to 
his home before he crossed the ocean?’’ 

Meg, brightening slightly at the remembrance of 
the past, so suddenly brought before her mind, can- 
didly asks: “An’ what anedae ye mean?” 

The Minister, somewhat puzzled at the question, 
asks another as candidly on his part: “Was there 
more than one?’’ 

“Ay, tae be sure, a wee lassie an’ a laddie.” 

The Minister having experienced a feeling of more 
confidence in Meg’s truthfulness and simplicity, 
changes his line of investigation and says: “Mr. 
Honeychurch was a bachelor, I understand ; he must 
have been very fond of children.” 

“Ay, that he was, though he never keepit ane o’ 
them. He was just a kindly man, wha did guid 
whar he cud. He cud na'abide tae see a body at a 
loss i’ the warl’, an’ sae he just spent his sillar in 
helpin’ puir folk. Ye may weel say he was fond o’ 
the bairns, deed ay, for he faud a wee lass i’ the 
street ae nicht an’ brocht her hame tae feed an’ 
dress, an’ after that, tae fin’ her a fine hame wi’ a 
muckle gran’ family.” 

“But there was another child he befriended.’’ 


MEG McDUFF. 


*‘Ay, a wee infant, a laddie.” 

”How did the child come into his hands, pray?” 

“Wi" the loss o* its mither, wha droon’d hersel*, 
the bairn had nae fayther nor hide nor hair o’ kith 
or kin, sae what does Maister Honeychurch dae, but 
get the poleesh offishers tae gie the wee thing intil 
his keepin’.” 

‘‘How long did he keep the child?” 

‘‘I’ faith, nae mair than a day.” 

‘‘What became of it then?” The Minister grew 
anxious at this point, and leaned forward to hear 
Meg’s answer, with an eagerness which almost be- 
trayed itself to the half-blind old woman. 

‘‘He gied it tae frien’s o’ his wha had buried their 
ain bairn, — they had but ane, — an’ it was adopted 
by them.” 

The Minister saw in this answer the prospect of 
continued search, and although he had added to 
his knowledge of the history he was tracing, yet 
practically he was no nearer the identity of the child 
as a living reality of the present time. He was 
already dismayed at the slow course of his search, 
and an inclination to give up further quest in the 
matter was growing upon him. His next question, 
however, brought an answer that startled him. 

‘‘Do you remember the name of the friend to 
whom Mr. Honeychurch gave the infant for adop- 
tion?” 

‘‘Ay, weel, tae Andrew Hopson.” 


214 


DAVID TdDD. 


CHAPTER XXV. 

THE journey’s END. 

M eg McDUFF had given the Minister a piece of 
news which he had not looked for. Fortune 
takes strange freaks, but here was a name given to 
Mr. Todd, in his search, which suggested at least a 
remarkable course of events, which fortune had made 
more than strange in their relation to each other 
and to him, as an interested party. 

As the name of Andrew Hopson was uttered by 
Meg, the coincidences of time, as regarding the pres- 
ent age of Andrew Hopson’s son, with reference to 
the period of time between the child’s adoption and 
the present, flashed through his mind. 

Then he remembered, in rapid thoughts, that 
Andrew Hopson had lived in Glasgow before 'he 
came to Crosscairn ; then the remembrance of a 
conversation with Andrew Hopson, in which he 
had learned that a child had been buried in that 
city, followed, and was simultaneous with the re- 
vived impression that he had once carelessly enter- 
tained, the thought that John Hopson was signally 
unlike his parents in stature, form, and feature. 
It took but a moment for these thoughts to pass 
through the Minister’s mind, and though they 
startled him and troubled him, yet in his unimpas- 
sioned way he showed his feelings vaguely only, — 
then he began to question Meg anew. 

“Where was Mr. Andrew Hopson living now?” 


THE JOURNEY’S END. 


215 


Meg could not answer, but ''some years syne,” 
she said, ''an auld acquaintance said, he had for- 
gathered wi’ him i’ the ne’borhood o’ a toon ca’ed 
Crosscairn.” 

The Minister tied this coincidence to the others; 
he was getting quite a string of them, he thought. 

Again he questioned Meg: "Did she know what 
business Andrew Hopson followed in Glasgow?” 

"Ay, vera weel, he wasna’ a sailor, nor yet a cap- 
tain o’ a ship, but he just made a wheen bits o’ toy 
ships. Maister Honeychurch had ane o’ them in 
his hoose, pit in a frame wi’ a glass before it.” 

The Minister added another coincidence to his 
string, as he thought of the miniature merchant- 
man, a perfect model, standing in a corner of An- 
drew Hopson’s parlor at Crosscairn, and recollected 
that Andrew Hopson had been connected with the 
shipping interests of the Clyde, previous to his arri- 
val in Crosscairn. 

“How old a man was Andrew Hopson at that 
time?” 

” Ayont forty-five. ” 

The Minister, performing a mental process in 
mathematics, found another coincidence in the 
result. 

The Minister paused, and Meg betook herself to 
speculation as to the drift of these questions. 

''Ye’ll no’ be thinkin’,” said she, "that Maister 
Honeychurch or Andrew Hopson had ony hand in 
the droonin’ o’ the bairn’s mither?” 

"Oh no,” said the Minister with a faint smile, 


2i6 


DAVID TODD. 


“I wadna say but there was foul play somewhere 
thoV’ she said interrogatively, as though a horror 
would be pleasant to contemplate. 

'‘I think not,” the Minister answered. 

‘‘The nicht before Mr. Honeychurch broucht the 
bairn hame, I had an aw’fu’ dream, an’ in the 
mornin* I spat in ma shoon seven times tae keep aff 
oucht o’ ill. Here’s the same bairn after mair than 
twenty-four year, an’ yestreen I dreamed o’ a lad 
an’ a lass an’ a deil a’ dressed in black no unlike 
yersel’ ; what’s mair, I saw, as sure as death, a 
deed face keekin’ in at me at thonder pane. There 
be uncanny things brewin’, I ha’e nae doot.” 

The Minister attempted to reassure Meg that 
supernatural agencies were in no wise connected 
with the matter in hand, but Meg, construing his 
assurances into a desire to make light of what she 
considered a serious topic, and being jealous of her 
own opinions in the matter, became voluble, and 
launching into her favorite theme of witches and 
witchcraft, prophecies and dreams, wrought herself 
into a nervous fervor, from which she gradually be- 
came personal in her remarks, casting baleful glances 
at her visitor. Succeeding this, she became inco- 
herent, and settled finally into a semi-idiotic mutter- 
ing, meanwhile convulsively twitching her bony fin- 
gers and rocking her body to and fro, till at last, 
becoming unintelligible, the Minister, putting a few 
pieces of silver into her twitching fingers, thanked 
her, and took his departure. 

Finding the taciturn Jehu asleep on his seat, the 


THE JO URNE Y ’5 END. 


217 


Minister arouses him, and glancing back to see old 
Meg, who has hobbled to the door of her hut, the 
horses are started and the drag goes whirring along. 

How exhilarating is this pure mountain air! The 
horses feel its inspiring effect and speed over the 
winding road unadmonished. The sun is setting, 
the air is brisk and clear, and the sky lies behind 
the hills in sharp and glowing color. Far away in 
every direction the bare hills in graded changes of 
purple tones are gathered together in silent and 
solemn company; far below are valleys resting in 
shadow, and here and there, upon slopes facing the 
west, patches of green in emerald and olive, glimpses 
of yellow gold and russet where grain is ripening, 
and occasionally a small white dot, where a farm- 
house hides among the hills. 

Still down the mountain road they go, now turn- 
ing a curve, where unexpected views are spread 
open, now descending a rocky road, precipitous and 
difficult of travel, where late torrents have left 
their traces in gullies and ragged chasms, now toil- 
ing up a steep ascent of gravelly road, commanding 
at its summit a changed picture of the same change- 
less hills. 

Mr. Todd, although a lover of nature, has no 
thought for the beauty about him. It is true that 
the clear air of this mountain country affects him, 
but he is unconscious of it as he sits pondering the 
string of coincidences which array themselves in 
line, join in pairs, and at last unite to form one com- 
pact whole, proving his search to have resulted in 


2i8 


DAVID TODD, 


the finding of a living heir in the person of John 
Hopson. 

Still onward goes the drag, while nature’s kalei- 
doscope presents new surprises of form and color at 
every turn of the winding road. Here a rustic 
bridge spans a torrent, which boils in its rocky 
gorge; here, at the wayside, a white and thatched 
cottage, with children playing at the door, now a 
hedge and cultivated fields, now a row of huts, now 
a churchyard and a church, a village green, and a 
long straggling village street. Little columns of 
smoke are circling from homes where the evening 
meal is being prepared, and voices are calling to 
one another. 

Before the door of the little village inn the horses 
instinctively stop, and the red-faced host of “The 
Sheep and Fold” is waiting at the porch with a 
smile. A brief halt for refreshments, and then a 
“good-night” to the little mountain village and 
away again. 

Now the hills are indistinct in outline and the air 
is chilly. The shadows, grown bolder, stalk with a 
gloomy grace from nooks of bush and stone and 
crouch deep in the valleys, glimmering jets of light 
start out of the distance, and the night falls darkly 
over all. 

Sitting motionless, the Minister’s thoughts pene- 
trate beyond the present, and as the consequences 
of his discovery are pictured before him, his sad 
face grows gloomy and sullen ; like a muffled and 
inanimate object he sits, but within there is a cease- 


THE JO URNE Y ’ 5 END. 


219 


less and intense turmoil of thought. Thoughts that 
struggle for existence, thoughts that master other 
thoughts, thoughts that burn in his mind, and 
thoughts that cry in anguish, are in conflict within. 
Like the darkness lying upon the hills, so the shad- 
ows of unholy and sullen wrong rest upon his mind, 
and his conscience is swallowed and buried in the 
thickening gloom within. 

Still the drag goes whirring along. Now in the 
darkness and the stillness, the rumble of the wheels 
and the footfall of the horses is answered by mys- 
terious echoes, which mutter from the surrounding 
hills and glens. The moon comes up and looks 
with its pale face over the highest hill, it mounts 
into the zenith and spreads its sheen upon the rugged 
slopes and down into the valleys below. As it glides 
in its path across the heavens, the drag still goes 
whirring along and the echoes go racing after. 

Still silent and motionless, David Todd sits, 
bound in deep and ceaseless thought, and the driver, 
perched upon the seat before him, never so much 
as chirrups to his horses. 

It is past midnight, when the tired nags turn out 
of the solitude of the mountain road into the sub- 
urbs of the lowland town. As they come upon the 
town itself, lying so still at the foot of the sombre 
hills, the bell from a high tower tolls solemnly the 
first hour of a new morning. How quietly this 
little town sleeps in the shadow of the hills, as 
through its deserted thoroughfares they roll, the 
clattering of hoofs upon the hard road and the whir- 


220 


DAVID TODD. 


ring of wheels seeming a desecration of its peace- 
ful stillness. From side to side the echoes of the 
falling hoofs answer one another, calling down side 
streets and darting through zig-zag turnings into 
shadowy and uncertain haunts, where dim corners 
and gables loom indistinctly, mingling in a clash of 
vibrations, where they meet in some inclosed court, 
muttering, as if in conspiracy, deep in the darkness 
of some hidden close, and starting out sharply from 
wall and doorway, to whirr and clatter and rumble 
far away up the sides of the moonlighted hill. 

Here and there a lamp flickers fitfully upon the 
street and sheds its little gleam of light across the 
way, discovering some belated traveler, threading 
his way homeward from some social gathering. 
Now a bright ray shoots clearly from a partially 
opened window, and a merry jangle of music floats 
out upon the night, with voices of laughter. There, 
deep in a shaded recess, shines a dimly lighted case- 
ment with shadows moving across its face. Perhaps 
some sufferer lies here tossing in fever and pain, 
while anxious kindred sadly watch and hope. Here, 
a blinking candle starts upon the night. Mayhap 
it lights a bed upon which a sheeted form lies cold 
and dead, it may be that the gleam, flashing across 
the path and gliding away into the abyss of dark- 
ness, carries with it a spirit let loose from its mor- 
tal prison. 

Into the courtyard of the little hostelry the weary 
horses turn, and the Minister finds his way to his 
room. There his lamp burns through the night, and 


HOW SHALL I DECIDE? 


221 


goes out at last when the day, in gray light, steals 
through the streets and falls upon the eastern slopes 
of the adjacent hills. 


CHAPTER XXVI. 

HOW SHALL I DECIDE? 

O N his return to Crosscairn, Mr. Todd found a 
letter lying upon his study table. During his 
absence Mrs. McNeish had looked at it a score of 
times and wondered what it contained ; she had 
even held it up to the light and tried to learn its 
contents in that way, and she had turned it over 
and over and worried her mind not a little in specu- 
lative theories as to its contents which were not 
satisfactory. She knew the letter came from a law- 
yer, for she had inspected the stamped seal minutely 
enough to know that it could not be broken without 
leaving very damning evidence, and in the getting 
of this idea she had read the words upon the seal : 
“Attorneys and Solicitors.” What their names 
were she had not been able to read. 

Mr. Todd, opening the letter on his return, dis- 
covered it was from Flint & Leach, Attorneys & 
Solicitors, Glasgow, and contained the following: 

Rev. David Todd: 

Respected Sir : — Having drawn the will of the 
late Eleanor Maxwell, wherein you are named as 
beneficiary, in the matter of that portion of^the 
document regarding the ultimate settlement of a 
former will made by an old and respected client, 


222 


DAVID TODD, 


twenty-one years ago (we refer to Mr. Peter Craig, 
the deceased uncle of the late lame^ited Mrs. Elea- 
nor Maxwell), we desire to call your attention to 
the approaching date, November ist, i8— , as that 
upon which all the conditions of Mr. Peter Craig’s 
last testament will have been fulfilled, regarding the 
administration of that portion of the testament re- 
lating to Mrs. Eleanor Maxwell. It being but a few . 
short days before the date referred to, we need 
scarcely state that there is no possibility of the long 
silence of the past being broken in the matter of 
other heirs appearing; and the necessary papers 
being in readiness, prepared by us, we shall pro- 
ceed at once, upon the arrival of the date before 
mentioned, to administer the will of the late Mrs. 
Eleanor Maxwell with especial reference to the 
available legacy then matured and due under the 
conditions of the will of Mr. Peter Craig, deceased. 
The fortune from this source, which consists of de- 
posited bonds, with interest combined, amounts to 
sixty thousand pounds, which we hope to be able to 
place in your possession at an early date succeeding 
the first of November, prox., this being the last day 
covered by the provisions of Mr. Peter Craig’s will 
as to the postponement of its payment. 

Congratulating you upon the good fortune which 
awaits you, and looking for an answer embodying 
your directions in the matter of details, we are. 

Your most ob’t serv’ts, 

Flint & Leach, 

Glasgow. Attys. and Solicitors, 

Flushing and growing pale again, in nervous emo- 
tion, wherein there was a throbbing joy and a vague 
pain of discontent and unhappiness, the Minister 
glanced at the date of the letter. It was October 
twenty-fifth. The letter had probably taken two 


//OlV SHALL I DECIDE? 


223 


days for transmission, this brought the twenty- 
seventh as the date of delivery. During the twenty- 
seventh and the thirtieth he had been engaged in 
his search, and having returned upon this present 
day, the thirty-first, the contents of the letter had 
now only become known to him. His face flushed 
and his heart throbbed again, while the sense of 
alloying pain he had at first felt became more un- 
certain, as he considered that to-morrow, November 
the first, was, in the words of the letter, “the last 
day covered by the provisions of Mr. Peter Craig’s 
will, as to the postponement of its payment.’’ “To- 
morrow, the last day,’’ he thought, “to-morrow 
being passed, the fortune is mine. Grace Amph- 
lett is mine. 

“Yes, this fortune is mine, rightfully in the eyes 
of man, and rightfully in the eyes of the law’s most 
upright advocates, rightfully by the decrees of the 
state and the statutes of the civilized world. To- 
morrow being passed, what need to relate the dis- 
covery? Why should the secret be confessed? To- 
morrow being the last day, a chance might delay its 
confession. To-morrow! — a hundred things might 
occur to prevent its confession. Its discovery hung 
upon chance, and came at the last chance moment. 

“Again, the coincidences discovered might be 
only rare and random circumstances, thrown together 
by the erratic hand of Fate. What proof positive 
and undeniable had he that these events, these seem- 
ingly related evidences, were real and definite facts, 
making truth of conjecture? The evidence of cir- 


224 


DAVID TODD. 


cumstances was ever faulty ; men had suffered death 
through the evidence of circumstances stronger and 
more strange than all he had collected, and the vic- 
tims had been proved innocent thereafter. Why 
should a mere conjecture stand between him and 
fortune and happiness?” 

As he thought thus, his conscience could not be 
satisfied nor silenced. It tortured him with the 
words: ‘‘Do not deceive yourself. If you but con- 
jecture, go to Andrew Hopson’s, the definite proof is 
there.” Again his mind sought to justify wrong. 
‘‘He had thought this fortune his and based his 
future happiness upon his expectations ; he did no 
wrong in a reluctance to surrender it to another; that 
other had never possessed it, never expected it, had 
been and now was ignorant of it. The intention of 
her who had every reason to think she possessed it as 
a reality was that it should be his.” 

“By the intention of the original will the fortune 
was rightfully his; then why at this time, when prac- 
tically the original heirship of Peter Craig’s nephew 
was annulled, should he scruple to accept it? 
What mattered a few hours in a matter of twenty- 
one years? Legally the space of a day or an hour 
might be important, but practically and virtually the 
conditions of Peter Craig’s will had already been 
fulfilled, especially in view of the circumstance that 
the drawing of the will had antedated the testator’s 
death one day only. The law, proverbial for error 
and delay, could have no moral force in a matter like 
this, otherwise a moral principle might be governed 


//OlV SHALL L DECLDE? 


225 


by a stupid or dilatory lawyer’s clerk, any insignifi- 
cant whelp ‘prowling around the kennel of justice.’ 
A mere scribbling boy lazily or neglectfully might 
hold a matter in hand for days, aye weeks ; at any 
rate, aside from legal technicality the idea and inten- 
tion of twenty-one years of postponement of payment 
as a distinct period of duration had been practically 
and morally fulfilled.” 

So the Minister’s thoughts, seeking to reason from 
a basis of assumption and strained moral justice in 
the selfish bias of their nature, contended with Con- 
science and sought to drown the still small voice 
which bravely maintained its own and whispered 
calmly and deliberately: “You are wrong. Do not 
be deceived by these thoughts, they are unworthy of 
you ; you are not seeking justice but self. Be sin- 
cere, look at the matter fairly. The intention of him 
who originally made the will became a real purpose 
and a fixed reality sanctioned, indorsed, and active 
only at the death of the testator; in law and right 
the fortune is not yours.” 

Again his thoughts contended for the mastery 
and argued: “Was he not a beneficiary of the 
original will? He had taken the place of Mrs. 
Maxwell, the sole beneficiary, and did not the will 
expressly state that no effort to discover other heirs 
should be made by the beneficiary as such? He 
had no right to discover, and, in discovery, no neces- 
sity to divulge his discovery.” His thoughts at this 
point assumed a virtuous tone, and, with greater 
emphasis than before, questioned the right to disobey 


226 


DAVID TODD. 


the direct commands of the will, in attempting to 
discover the heir. 

So the Minister’s mind held its course in a con- 
tinual line of thoughts identical in their selfish and 
prejudicial character, but the whisper of Conscience 
was heard through it all repeating: “Four advo- 
cates, noble and wise and good, are arrayed to plead 
the cause of John Hopson. Listen to them ! They 
are Truth, Right, Honor, Justice.” 

Mr. Todd, appealing to his heart at this point, 
could hear no voice but that which continually and 
plaintively cried; “I love her above all else; I 
cannot give her up ; I hold her as mine only by 
this: If this discovery is divulged, Grace Amphlett 
is lost to me forever.” 

So his mind resumed its thoughts and Conscience 
seemed silenced. 

“I love Grace Amphlett, I have her father’s con- 
sent to wed her. John Hopson is a boy and does 
not know what love is. He cannot love as I do. 
Squire Amphlett has said I shall not again be refused; 
she IS already mine. Shall I blast my life’s peace 
and happiness by giving forth a chance story, which 
will rob me of the only hold I have upon her and 
happiness? I must at least take time to think. 
Men do not sacrifice themselves upon the instant, — 
I must have time to think and time will remove all 
need of confession, for, after to-morrow, it will be 
too late for confession, and I will be the true heir 
to this fortune. Then, after the fortune is mine, 
after it has served me, and given to me my idol, — 


HOW SHALL I DECIDE? 


227 


then I can make amends if I have done wrong. I 
do not want the fortune for itself, for had I the 
assurance that Grace Amphlett were mine, I would 
spurn the wealth of Peter Craig and freely give the 
boy all. It is true that John Hopson has said that 
Grace Amphlett loves him, but that may be the 
boast of a vain boy. In setting this youth aside 
what proof have I that the life of Grace Amphlett 
will be affected to her sorrow? I must not consider 
this thing, for it is assuming my own unworthiness 
against another’s assumed worthiness. Let John 
Hopson advance himself, for all is fair in love, and 
Grace Amphlett will choose between us. What- 
ever the after-conditions, she will not allow them to 
affect her happiness. Indeed, it cannot be a sacrifice 
of her welfare to wed with one whose greatest hap- 
piness in life is to love her. If I decide to give 
this fortune to John Hopson, I must give with it 
the woman I love and have loved for years, loved 
as no other man ever loved woman : I must give 
up my home, I must leave this place, for I cannot 
live here and see another man enjoying the bliss I 
have so long and deeply hoped for. I must give up 
my peace, my ha^ppiness, my life as it were, the 
hope, the aspiration, the purpose of years, — I must 
forsake all and go hence alone and in despair, with 
no warmth or joy to brighten the future. Oh, how 
shall I decide; I am tortured and unhappy. My 
love, my heart’s choice! I cannot give you up, I 
cannot give you up! The love of years and the 
purpose of years I cannot set aside. O Grace, my 


22S 


DAVID TODD. 


soul’s companion ! I cannot tear you out of my 
heart. No! No! No! it cannot be.” 

****** 

When Mrs. McNeish called the Minister the next 
morning, he failed to answer. As the breakfast 
hour came and the Minister did not appear, she 
knocked at his door: receiving no answer after re- 
peated knocking, and having listened between 
times, and at last having applied her eye to the 
keyhole without effect, she cautiously opened the 
door. 

Mr. Todd was not there. His room was in order 
and his bed was undisturbed, as it had been left by 
her the day before. On his study table, with some 
difficulty, she read a note in the Minister’s hand- 
writing, telling that he had been called away sud- 
denly. There were no further explanations as to 
his business or whereabouts, or expected return. 

Mrs. McNeish had last seen the Minister at tea 
the night before, and was not particularly excited at 
this sudden absence, thinking he had been sum- 
moned to attend a death-bed during the night, so 
she went downstairs and took her breakfast, and 
after that went about her household duties, mentally 
depreciating shiftless sinners who took unreason- 
able hours to leave the world, thus interfering with 
the regular work of the Manse. 

It was late that night when the Minister returned 
home, but Mrs. McNeish, waiting up for him and 
putting divers questions to him in a roundabout 


THE MINISTER'S STRONG POINT. 229 

way of getting information as to his movements 
without appearing to do so, found the Minister more 
grave and taciturn than usual, and was figuratively 
obliged to go to bed at last in the dark. 


CHAPTER XXVII. 

THE minister’s STRONG POINT. 

A WEEK had passed since the Minister had re- 
turned from his last trip, and Mrs. McNeish 
had not yet succeeded in learning his where- 
abouts during that night and day. At the end of 
the week two letters came to Mr. Todd; they were 
postmarked Glasgow, and each bore the seal of 
Flint & Leach, Attorneys and Solicitors. The Min- 
ister, alone in his study, opened them and read their 
contents. The first ran as follows: 

Reverend David Todd: 

Respected Sir : — By the conditions of the will of 
the late Eleanor Maxwell you were made devisee 
to a certain prospective fortune which under stated 
contingencies was to have come into the deceased 
lady’s hands. We allude to a devise of the deceased 
lady’s uncle, Mr. Peter Craig, which was to have 
been administered in her favor should other heirs 
specified not appear to claim the estate of the said 
testator deceased. By the death of Mrs. Eleanor 
Maxwell, you become the devisee prospective to Mr. 
Peter Craig’s estate, subject to the conditions, in the 
stead of the said Mrs. Maxwell. 

We write to inform you that affidavits have been 
filed with us proving incontestably that the heir 
specified in precedence to Mrs. Maxwell, by the 


230 


DAVID TODD. 


terms of Peter Craig’s will, has been found, and legal 
measures will at once be taken by us to place the 
estate bequeathed into his hands. 

We are, your most ob’t serv’ts, 

Flint & Leach, 

Glasgow. A ttys, and Solicitors. 

P.S. It may be of interest to you to learn that 
the heir mentioned is a resident of your town, viz.. 
Dr. John Hopson, Carrick Road. F. & L. 

The Minister, without any show of surprise, in 
short as one who had known its contents before- 
hand, read the letter carefully, then nodding his 
head gravely, but in the manner of one who ap- 
proved the statements conveyed, placed the letter 
upon his table, and opening the other letter, read in 
the same hand, as follows : 

Rev. David Todd : 

Esteemed Sir : — Since your visit to us, early upon 
the morning of November first, we have not been 
idle. The deposition made by you, at that time, in 
regard to John Hopson, Practitioner, Carrick Road, 
Crosscairn, with the evidences and coincidences in 
the matter of his identity, have been further strength- 
ened and made positive by personal interview with 
Mr. Andrew Hopson and wife, the said John Hop- 
son’s reputed parents. 

We write to you to express again our high regards 
for your very noble and disinterested course in this 
matter, and while we cannot but express our admi- 
ration of your lofty sense of right and your integrity 
of principle, we must at the same time differ with 
you upon the legal question which you so eloquently 
and firmly contested with us from a moral point of 
view. You will pardon us for again stating what 


THE MINISTER’S STRONG POINT. 231 


we then did : that legally, through Mrs. Maxwell’s 
decease, you became beneficiary under Mr. Craig’s 
will, and as such were not bound in law to discover 
the heir. The question, at any rate, is one emi- 
nently contestable; however, remembering your very 
decisive refusal to consider the question from a legal 
point, we can say no more. With sincere regards 
for you, as a noble-minded gentleman. 

We remain, your ob’t. serv’ts, 

Flint & Leach, Attys., etc. 

P.S. By accompanying mail, we have forwarded 
the letter dictated by you containing statement of 
affairs regarding heirship of John Hopson. As you 
requested, your name has not appeared, and will not 
appear in any way whatever, in the further transac- 
tions of this matter. F. & L. 

Mr. Todd, flushing slightly as he concluded, de- 
liberately tore the letter into fragments, and going 
to the open grate tossed them into the flames, 
watching them as they turned to ashes with a grave, 
though not altogether sad face. 

Taking his seat at the table, the Minister wrote 
a letter to Squire iVmphlett, in which he delicately 
alluded to his late interview with him, and in a dig- 
nified and firm manner relinquished his purpose of 
further intentions looking toward an alliance with 
the Squire’s daughter; at the same time he closed 
his letter with a revelation which was unknown to 
the Squire, relative to John Hopson and his feelings 
for Grace, touching upon the sentiments Grace en- 
tertained for John Hopson. Having written in full 
all that was necessary for an understanding of the 
situation, and having assured the Squire of an ulti- 


DAVID TODD. 


232 

mate prosperous and happy outcome of the present 
troubles at Dalmelington under existing circum- 
stances, he folded the letter which he had received 
from Flint & Leach, and which he had placed upon 
the table before him after reading, and placing it 
within his own letter, enclosed both in an envelope, 
wrote the address of Squire Amphlett, then sojourn- 
ing at Edinburgh, and dispatched Sandy McNeish 
to post it. Then the Minister went about in his 
calm and deliberate manner, as though nothing un- 
usual had occurred, but in his heart there was an 
ever-brooding thought which hid like a recluse and 
pored over a volume of sorrows day after day. 


CHAPTER XXVIIL 
“what befel let gossips tell.” 

I T was a night in February, about three months 
after the events of the last chapter, a cold, bleak 
night, a night to drive people to warm fires and 
comfortable homes. In the Black Bull tap a cheery 
fire burned in an open grate, and a full member- 
ship of arbitrators sat and lounged, drinking and 
smoking in counsel. 

‘‘Noo that auld Dr. Cameron has gane tae his 
lang hame, ” said one, “I suppose we maun just 
mak’ up oor minds tae be doctored by that chiel 
Hopson a’thegether. ” 

“Aye,” answered another, “an’ it’ll no be amiss 
tae tak’ the communion regularly an’ attend tae oor 
last wills gin we hae oucht tae leave behind us.” 


"WHAT BETEL LET GOSSIPS TELL." 233 


“Deed,” said one, “I’m thinkin’ sin’ Doctor 
John has gotten sic a muckle fortin’ left tae him 
an’ marrit Squire Amphlett’s dochter forby, he’ll 
be throwin’ physic tae the dougs, as Shakespeare wad 
say, an’ has little need o’ curin’ colics an’ sic like.” 

“If Doctor Hopson keeps the practice o’ auld 
Cameron, puir man, it’ll be because he’s fand o 
the wark, an’ no’ for need o’ the siller, for ma cer- 
tie, he’s gotten a fortin’ left tae him wad keep him 
in leisure an’ pleasure the rest o’ his days.” 

“He’ll ha’e need o’ muckle wealth o’ sillar tae 
keep up the pride o’ the wife he’s gotten.” 

“Hits, hits, man! Ye’re ay gabbin’ o’ pride. 
Pride, say ye, — the Squire’s dochter ne’er had ony 
but the richt kind. Ye puir auld fule, dae ye think 
because Squire Amphlett’s dochter doesna huther 
wi’ ye an’ yer ain low tribe o’ hizzies, she has mair 
pride than she oucht tae ha’e? Grace Amphlett, 
like her mither before her, was a lady a’ her life, an’ 
ay an ornament tae this parish, an’ a help tae, wi’ 
her kind words an’ her hard cash. Pride, say ye! 
was it the pride o’ the Amphlett’s whan the Squire’s 
dochter gied ye a five-pun note aince, tae keep ye 
frae the puir hoose?” 

Hugh Dickie was the speaker, and he stood be- 
side the man who had assailed his young mistress. 
“John Hopson has gotten a wife weel fitted for him; 
he was ay a fine chiel as weel, an’ got a wife like 
himsel’.” Hugh Dickie moving to another quar- 
ter after this, the conversation proceeded, Squire 
Amphlett now being under discussion. 


234 


DAVID TODD. 


'‘I hear the Squire has made a great speculation 
an* is gaun tae enlarge an’ remodel the Dalmeling' 
ton hoose. ” 

“Ay, it’s true, the wark is already begun!” 

“Deed, I thoucht, short syne, the Squire was a’ 
in a hole.” 

‘‘An’ sae he was, my lad, no’ in a hole alane, but 
a hole in a Hole. Deil tak’ ill fortin’, but the Squire 
was. I’ve heerd, no’ worth saxpence wi’ his unfor- 
tunate' speculations, but whan he was on his last 
legs, as ane micht say, wi’ no’ ae shillin’ ta'e rub 
agin anither, it turned oot that an auld an’ worth- 
less venture, made years syne, just took new life 
an* brocht him in mair than a’ the worth o’ Dalmel- 
ihgton twice tauld.” 

“By Jinkers! there be some born tae luck! I 
wunner sic guid luck ne’er cam’ tae us.” 

“Deed, it’s hard tae say, but ye ken the auld 
sayin’ : ‘The deil’s bairns hae the deil’s luck’.’’ 

So the conversation continued, while, inter- 
spersed with personal matters, a wide range of 
broad significance, supplied subjects, and many 
details were discussed by the company in knots and 
groups. 

While the evening passed. Bob Cherry’s red and 
bulbous nose seemed to glow and flicker like a light 
among the arrayed decanters, tobys, wine-glasses, 
bottles, and pipes behind the bar, as he moved 
about active to the needs of his patrons. 

It was growing late when Mr. Todd as a standard 
subject came up. 


WHA T BEFEL LET GOSSIPS TELLF 235 

’ Did ye hear what they’re tellin* noo o* the Minis- 
ter?” 

” Faith, I hae heerd sae muckle o ’his reverence, 
I canna say.” 

”Weel, they say he’s been speculatin’ wi’ the 
Squire.” 

”Hoo ken ye that?” 

”The Squire was seen payin’ him a gran* sum.” 

”No, ye dinna tell me.” 

”Ay, it’s true, but what’s mair, it’s said the 
Minister has gien the toon a thousan* pun*.” 

”What for?” 

”Tae help the puir o’ the parish.” 

”Deed, it’s nae mair than he oucht tae gie. 
He’s leeved on the parish himsel’ for ower fifteen 
years.” 

“I’d no’ say but he’d tak’ it back, gin he got the 
chance, for I hear he’s ay carryin’ a lang face sin’ he 
gied it.” 

So truth and speculation with a strong undercur- 
rent of venom passed from lip to lip ; not only at the 
Black Bull assembly but at many another social 
gathering in church and prayer-meeting, Crosscairn 
gossip like a dirty stream ebbed and flowed and de- 
posited its slime on every side. Still flowing the 
days went on, and the years passed. 

As the years went by John Hopson, happy in the 
realization of his hopes, happy in the love of her 
who in her love for him made each day’s life a sweet 
existence of quiet peace and joy, renewed his vows 
pledged at the altar, renewed them in tangible proofs 


236 


DAVID TODD, 


•of his affection. Not in a cold stagnant indiffer- 
ence did these two live out their lives, not in a nar- 
row path of selfish and independent singleness, 
wherein there was" but the formal tie of law and 
usage, but together united as one, seeing as one, 
enjoying one happiness, one existence. Around 
them the world was a storehouse filled with good 
things— Fortune ample for their needs, children to 
brighten and give new pleasures and purposes to 
their lives, and more fully to complete their union 
of affection, kindred to walk with them; and when 
in the flight of time death called some of these away 
the bond between these twain became stronger as 
through their hearts, mingling with existing joys, a 
gentle strain of sorrow passed, like the music of a 
sad song, toning and harmonizing their peaceful 
lives. 

Thus the years passed with them, and the foot- 
steps of Time fell with a quiet and gentle tread. 

Hugh Dickie, old as he was and obstinate as he 
was (marvelous as the fact is), changed with time, 
and becoming an elder in the church deserted the 
Black Bull and carried his strength of character into 
the congregation. A numerous retinue followed 
him, and his energies, directed toward building up 
character, and not destroying it, were felt in the 
parish. He learned to know Mr Todd better, and 
said of him: “He’s just the pick an’ flower o’ men, 
a man o’ sterlin’ qualities, a monument o’ the power 
o his mission for guid, standin’ high among his fel- 
lows, a man wi’ clean hands an’ a clean hearty wi’ 


WHA T BEFEL LET GOSSIPS TELLP 237 

a nature fu’ o’ Christian graces, an’ ’deed I ha’e 
tae blame ma ain guid wife for keepin’ me frae 
seein’ the guid in him, for what wi’ her idolatry an* 
reverence, as though the Minister were a divinity 
himsel’, she just disgusted me a’thegether an’ made 
me think he wasna even a man o’ ordinary sense or 
guidness.” 

If the reader is desirous of knowing what became 
of Hugh Dickie’s coquettish daughter, Bessie, let 
me record here that despite her fastidious tastes she 
was fain to take '‘Hobson’s choice” in the matter 
of Thomas, the gardener, ”wha was a’ feet an’ 
shouthers. ” 

Mrs. McNeish remained unchanged, "a gey guid 
Christian woman,” without variableness or shadow 
of turning, and reigned a triumphant tyrant, while 
Sandy, becoming a philosopher, delved so deeply 
into heresies that he died believing fervently in the 
transposed doctrine of orthodoxy, viz: hell first, 
death after. 

As for Mr. Todd, he lived as he had lived, a man 
of steady and quiet habits, outwardly above just re- 
proach. Within a good, a noble, a sincere, and un- 
selfish heart throbbed, but no one in Crosscairn 
knew truly what was within. The burning and in- 
tense love he was capable of, the temptation he had 
struggled with, the strong will, the sacrifice, the 
sorrows of the man, the loneliness of his life which 
was soothed only by the companionship of a faithful 
and approving conscience — all these were unknown, 
they were never expressed upon his face or uttered 


238 


DAVID TODD, 


by his lips. Htr rived through a quiet life of useful- 
ness and unassuming humility, doing good as he 
could from the best motives which his integrity of 
character prompted, but with all his good works and 
the example of his life, with prayer and preaching 
through many years, he did not succeed in convert- 
ing all of his Crosscairn brethren. 


THE END. 




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